


P.S.

by Lonaargh, Stilienski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aged up Stiles, Angst, Corona Virus mention, Embedded Images, Epistolary, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, Kissing, Letters, Longing, M/M, Mild Swearing, Recipe, Snark, Terrible Jokes, canon? we don't know her, drawn naked butt, drunk letters, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 32,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonaargh/pseuds/Lonaargh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stilienski/pseuds/Stilienski
Summary: When Peter wakes up in a strange pack with only a chaotic memory of flames, he follows protocol and sends a letter to the Hales' safety house. It's been five years though, and a new resident has long since moved in.Or the one where Peter never goes batshit insane but somehow still finds Stiles. And they were penpals.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 499
Kudos: 604





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeyooo,
> 
> So, this is the start of an epic, amazing, awesome, and breathtaking collaboration between Lonaargh and Stilienski! Whoo!
> 
> We'll be posting these letters following a very strict (cough) schedule that is as follows:
> 
> Peter: Every Wednesday  
> Stiles: Every Saturday
> 
> Don't hesitate to drop us a line in the comments and don't forget to kudos if you liked it!

  


Ms. Laura Hale  
1753 Williams Avenue  
Bakerfield, CA, 93301

01/08/2020

Hey there kiddo,

Look, I know that you’re probably busy doing… whatever the hell it is young women do these days... but I just wanted to let you know that I woke up last week and am alright. Well, to a certain extent of alright. As alright as a person can be after having been burned and in a coma for a considerable amount of time. Which is still surprisingly alright. Gotta love those werewolf powers, right?

I mean, sure, my hair is now considerably shorter and I’ve seen some pretty gruesome pictures of how the healing process has gone, but I’m alive! And short hair suits me. Not having eyebrows, on the other hand, was a bit of a setback in terms of being attractive but they’ve grown back and I no longer look like a deranged clown without make-up.

Satomi and her pack have been very friendly and they’ve really gone out of their way to make me feel welcome. She keeps asking if I’ve been eating enough and plates with (admittedly delicious) food keep appearing in my room and on my desk. I’m telling you, I must have gained almost twenty pounds. Since last week. It’s insane. If she wasn’t so nice I’d suspect her of fattening me up so she can eat me. I’m praying she doesn’t read my correspondence, or I’m dead.

So all this rambling is simply leading up to the obvious question about the elephant in the room: How are you holding up? How are Derek and Cora? Satomi told me she hasn’t heard from you in a while now and I have to be honest, kiddo, I’m getting kinda nervous here. Nervous enough to reach out to you like this. Don’t leave your favorite uncle in suspense like this and shoot me a line back. Soon. Preferably yesterday. Look, I know it’s been a lot to deal with and I wasn’t around, but I’m awake now and here if you need me.

I’ll keep this short, but please respond and let me know you’re alright.

Love,

Uncle Peter.


	2. Chapter 2

  


Dude.

What the fuck.

Look I know this is no way to start a letter to a freaking stranger, but honestly. What the fuck. This is the worst letter to accidentally open. Where do I even start? Well I’m not Laura. I’m Stiles, I bought the apartment from her. She was in a rush to sell and get the hell out of dodge. I’m sorry though, no clue where she is now. 

Also how are you alive? Everyone thinks you died in that fire, dude. 

A coma? Five years? And you weren’t in a hospital? I knew Laura was paranoid when I bought this place (not that I blame her) but not bringing your comatose uncle to a hospital seems like a batshit crazy and horrible decision. It’s going straight in my “the Hales are a cult” evidence pile. No offense of course. 

So yeah, good to hear about your miraculous recovery, can’t wait to read about that in the papers. And your eyebrows of course. I could’ve sworn I read somewhere that hair doesn’t grow on scar tissue though. Maybe it’d be better if you stayed out of the papers, it’s not like you need the money and they already tried to storm area 51, they don’t need an inside man posing as a test subject anymore.

I hope Satomi doesn’t eat you, that would suck after just having woken up from a coma. Though your flesh would be very tender and supple if your muscles have been inactive for five years. I’d hate to promote cannibalism, but if she was ever thinking of giving it a go, you do seem to be prime material for a first experiment. 

Sorry I don’t know where that came from. I have a tendency to ramble. But like I said, I have no clue where Laura is these days, I haven’t heard from her since I bought the place from her. She didn’t even stay around long enough to find out the results from the investigation into the fire. Though, not to add oil to the fire (sorry, no pun intended), but if you ask me those results were a hot steaming stinking pile of bull shit. 

I wouldn’t worry too much if Laura’s still been somewhat keeping in touch with Satomi, but not too long after your nieces and nephew left my brand spanking new place got broken into and I’m not that much of a believer in coincidences. 

Anyway, I have no idea what else to tell you or how to help you. I could ask my dad if you want? He’s the sheriff. He was at the scene right after the fire, it never sat quite right with him either. Though I guess that’s not news to you, or at least not to Laura. She knew exactly what she was running from. Still, no fucking excuse to leave A COMATOSE UNCLE IN ANY PLACE THAT IS NOT A HOSPITAL.

I will never get over that.

So yeah, I guess that’s it for me. 

Signing off and all that.

Stilinski over and out. 

P.S.: that werewolf stuff sounds like an epic inside joke I’d love to hear more about. 

P.P.S.: and I hope that you’re okay and all of that

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> Feel free to leave some kudos on your way out or give us a comment to tell us how you really feel :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter is taking no lip from no brat!
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone! Don't forget to hit that kudos button or to leave a comment if you like what you read!

Dear Mr. Stilinski,

First of all, I'd expect better manners from someone claiming to be the sheriff's son. Opening a letter not addressed to you 'by accident' is bad enough, but starting a reply with 'Dude' and 'What the fuck' passes straight through Being Rude and ends up at Boorish. This all suggests to me that you're nothing but a mouthy teenager, if it weren't for the fact that teenagers can't simply buy houses. Not even mouthy teenagers. So, who are you, how do you know about me and my family and why on earth did Laura think it was a good idea to sell the apartment to  **you** ? And when exactly did this transaction happen? Please tell me she did manage to get a decent price for it.

Second of all, the Hales are NOT a cult! What even gives you that insane notion? What evidence? And you're one to talk, after just telling me you're practically a cannibal. Stay away from my tender and supple flesh! You're simply jumping to ridiculous conclusions, my dear boy. Of course I've been in a hospital these last five years! They released me after I woke up and I've been regaining my strength and health with close friends ever since. NOT that I need to explain myself to you! Laura is a smart and sensible girl,  _ obviously _ she would bring her favourite uncle to a hospital when he's mortally wounded. You say she was paranoid when you spoke to her. Did she tell you why? 

I'm not sure what the doctors did, but I can assure you that not only is there hair on my head, but I look as handsome as ever. I would appreciate it if we could keep my 'miraculous' recovery out of the papers though. Not that the world doesn't deserve to gaze upon my stunning visage, but I'm simply not recovered enough to deal with the media circus that's sure to follow when the world learns about the amazing whatever-it-was that the doctors have done.

… They stormed Area 51? For real? And nobody got killed? … Did they actually find anything? I know that I could Google this, but we're out in the middle of nowhere here and I don't even have cellphone reception, never mind internet. You're the first outside world contact I've had in  _ days _ . Getting eaten might be preferable over going stir crazy. This also means that I'm woefully uninformed about everything regarding the fire and investigation. I've tried asking Satomi, but she just shakes her head and tells me, "In due time". Infuriating, really.

And yes, I'll gladly accept your offer and you may ask your father for any and all information regarding my family. Is everyone safe? Are you acquainted with any of them? Please respond at your earliest convenience.

Cordially yours,

Peter Hale

P.S The werewolf reference is a glorious inner circle joke. Which I won't be telling you. 

P.P.S I'm more than okay, thank you for asking.

P.P.P.S I hope you are doing alright as well.

"When I think over what I have said, I envy dumb people." Lucius Annaeus Seneca


	4. Chapter 4

Beacon Hills

01/18/2020

Mr. Hale,

Respected sir,

My sincerest apologies for my, as you so rightfully called it, “boorish” behavior. My dearest father raised me with better manners and would be absolutely appalled should word of this ever reach him. I must therefore sadly refrain from asking him for the help I prematurely offered you. I can only beg and hope you forgive me, for this must be the end of our correspondence.

Ever your humble servant,

Stiles Stilinski

You know, you’re a lucky son of a bitch, Peter. Because I can’t resist a good mystery. Must be the cop-kid in me. Anyway, you want my help, you’re going to be a big boy and put up with my language, I’m sure you can manage. This is a very what the fuck situation for everyone involved and I refuse to be punished for reacting like a normal human to that.

Back to the point though. What a mystery you've given me, because I know you weren't in any hospital. I know because you’re still registered as a missing person. Which everyone thought was just Laura being a naïve idiot who refused to accept the fact you’d died. And yes, I do mean everyone. The whole of Beacon Hills knows about the fire and about your family. 

Since you don’t have reliable internet access (which is only adding to the cult vibes, dude) I’ll break it down for you. The Hale Fire was officially ruled a very unfortunate accident. An electrical fire caused by faulty wiring. But we both know that makes zero sense. And Laura knew it too, so don’t play dumb.

An electrical fire might be expected in an old house - sorry, I mean estate, wouldn't want to offend your sensitive sensibilities again - but you just had your wiring updated three years prior according to your bank statements. (I take the occasional peak at my dad’s case files, feel free to sue me and lose your connection to the outside world.) And, even putting that aside, an electrical fire doesn’t explain why all of the bodies were found in the basement.

Of course Laura was paranoid, you are too, neither of you have to tell me why. That fire was not an accident, but it was coordinated enough to be ruled one. I’d be paranoid too. Which reminds me that you should stop putting your return address on the envelope. It has your name on it. The name of a person literally everyone in this area knows has been missing for five years.

Anyway, yes, Laura was paranoid as fuck. Sold the place for like half of what it was worth. But I was not about to say no to this fine piece of real estate. She rushed out of town only days after the fire, seems like she just dealt with any necessary immediate fall out and then fled with Cora and Derek in tow. As far as I can tell, she hired some lawyers to take care of everything she couldn’t. 

After that, all three of them completely dropped off the radar. None of their phones have been used since, they haven’t even tried to access any of the accounts that could be immediately traced back to the family. Apart from a series of withdrawals while still in Beacon Hills that seemed to be just under the limited amount to not raise any bells anywhere.

Which also means that no, I’m not “acquainted” (dear god, when are you from? A 5 year long coma does not explain this crap) with any Hales, sorry dude. Ever since your first letter arrived I’ve been scouring the internet for a trace of them, but they’ve just dropped off the grid completely. If I were you, I’d either sit tight and wait for her to contact you, or I’d give the forger a call. There’s no way for anyone to hide this well without getting some new papers.

On a lighter note, they did plan to storm area 51, but I’m pretty sure they pussied out. Thousands of people went up there though, I think a couple got arrested? I don’t know, the meme was fun for a while and then I lost interest by the time it actually happened. 

Your dear boy, 

Stiles 

P.S.: Dude, “dear boy”? I’d gag, but I’ve seen the Hale accounts now, I don’t think 24 is too old to be a sugar baby. 

P.P.S.: I’m good, too obsessed with your life to get anything done in my own, but this is prime quality entertainment so I’m not complaining. 

P.P.P.S.: Sorry about calling this whole tragedy “entertainment”. I don't think I’ve said it yet, but I am sorry for your loss. 

P.P.P.P.S.: Get Satomi to give you the wifi password. It’s 20-fucking-20, Peter. There is no way anyone is living without proper internet access. And I’m pretty sure the UN have classified withholding wifi passwords as psychological torture. 

“Boomer, OK.” ~ Baby Yoda.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this out last Sunday and my hand still hurts.   
> Let us know what you think! <3 
> 
> Peter's reply will be uploaded on Wednesday!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Welcome back for the newest letter. Let us know what you think below in the comments, or leave some kudos!

Stiles,

Dear boy (don’t worry, there are ways to train that gag reflex of yours), you are an even bigger little shit than I first thought. However, I will be a big boy indeed and will put up with your language. Perhaps you’ll eventually learn something from my example. 

Mind you, it’s not a normal human reaction to write before you think. If we’d been in a regular conversation, maybe, but writing actually offers you to take some time and  _ think _ . Although I suspect that thinking before you act is not something you’re overly fond of or familiar with. Call it a hunch.

Me still being listed as a missing person has probably more to do with a clerical error than anything else. We’ve already contacted the appropriate authorities to try and rectify this. Which is a huge pain in the ass when there’s not a lot of evidence to prove you’re actually you. Not even when you’re still in possession of all your hair and eyebrows. But trust me when I say that I was most definitely in a hospital under a false name until quite recently. I still can’t get the bland taste of the hospital food out of my mouth. Steer clear from the jello, that’s all I’m saying. 

I do thank you for the information about the fire and agree with you that this might not have been an accident. I do hope you haven’t gotten into any problems with your father for looking into classified information like that? Laura has done good by getting everyone the hell out of dodge. I’m not overly pleased with selling the apartment for  _ half of its worth _ , but considering her circumstances I suppose she had no other choice. I’ll see if I can get in contact with our family’s lawyers and check what more has been done and if there’s anything I can retrace. We’ll figure out later who is responsible for this, when I’ve recuperated fully and have the remainder of my family together again. 

Since our last correspondence Laura has finally contacted us again. She, Cora, and Derek are all doing just fine. I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, since you aren’t  _ acquainted _ (since you seemed confused last time: acquaint, /əˈkweɪnt/ verb. Past tense: acquainted; past participle: acquainted,  know someone slightly.  "I am not acquainted with any young lady of that name")

But I can tell you it was a huge relief to actually hear her voice. She told me that you seemed quite young, hyperactive and overly snarky. It pleased me greatly to hear my suspicions about you confirmed.

Though I appreciate your concern about the return address on the envelope, you don’t have to worry. I can’t go into any details, but rest assured that it doesn’t pose any risk. However, in order to put your worrying pretty little head to rest, I’ll use a fake name from now on. How does Peter Underwood sound? Or Heter Pale? Retep Elah? Or should I take a leaf out of Voldemort’s book and go for something like Hari Mae Pleet?

Storming Area 51 sounds like a stupid move. At best it would fail and fizzle out like it did, at worst people would get hurt. No, the best way to uncover their secrets was to sneak in alone. Subterfuge, evasion, and stealth are way better than flashing your teeth in certain situations. Brains over brawn. And so forth and so on. They’re lucky nobody got hurt.

And I swear on my empty grave that there really is no internet at this place. I am aware of how this sounds, but apparently it’s quite hard to get some cable in the middle of fucking nowhere. If there was any chance, any chance AT ALL, to get some internet here I would’ve done so already. I’ve read every book in this place that wasn’t in Japanese and have played so many games of Monopoly just to pass the time that I swear I’m going insane. Psychological torture sounds just about right. I don’t suppose you could send me some intellectual brainfood in return for the ‘entertainment’ my family has been giving you?

Lack of internet aside, it’s gorgeous here and there are definitely worse places to be cooped up in. Satomi has assured me that she isn’t going to eat me. 

I once again thank you for your help in this matter. If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.

Best,  
Pieter Heel

“Fucking Millennials” - Peter Hale


	6. Chapter 6

Daddy,

I find it rude of you to assume my gag reflex needs any training. Also I much prefer ‘brat’ to ‘little shit’, thank you very much. If you think that was another slip of the tongue, or pen if you will, I’m happy to inform you that I do think before I act. I think long and deep and hard before I do anyone. Oh, my mistake, guess my pen does slip from time to time, of course I meant anything, daddy.

I’ll accept your bullshit excuse of being registered under a false name in some sort of high end private hospital for now. But one day you’ll have to tell me why the Hale Cult is so against receiving proper medical care. 

I’m very glad to hear Laura, Cora and Dora are alright. I hope they save you from your wifi-less hell soon. Though selfishly, I also hope you can keep me up to date on your address? You’re a big little shit just like me (admit it) and I kind of really enjoy our little conversations. There’s something really exciting about receiving a handwritten letter and sending one in return. 

As for Laura’s impression of me, it is entirely false and super outdated. I am peace and quiet personified, I am the bringer of calmness, I am in fact a 90 year old man with a sad case of baby face. I can’t deny being snarky, but I will gladly debate there being anything like “overly” snarky. 

I’ve got to admit I’m kind of in a rush to get this letter done so it can be on its way today. I spent a bit too much time arranging some entertainment for you. Which you’ll find on the USB drive included, because I’m assuming you at least have access to a computer if not the internet. If not, I’m coming to rescue you. 

It includes all the essentials of the last 5 years (and before if there were sequels that came out within the last 5 years). So a bunch of movies, some tv-shows and a whole lot of ebooks since you mentioned reading. Even threw in some music and some comic books for good measure. I hope you like superheros and fantasy. 

And, since we’re apparently doing the whole pen pal thing, I assume my own life could be some entertainment too, however briefly. So I suppose this is where I do the whole introductions thing

I’m a wannabe writer and a graphic designer, so I spend a lot of time at home, and in Erica’s coffee shop, and in the library, and at the sheriff’s station. To bother my dad, to check on his diet, and maybe to check some interesting case files for inspiration or because I met a very mysterious pen pal, but no one can prove that. 

I read a lot, watch a lot of movies and I did actually take up running since I graduated. I’m surprised I stuck with it, but I did. I suppose I needed something to get me out of the house and away from my desk. I used to game a lot but between writing and designing I already spend an entire day in front of my computer. Since about a year I do write a lot of my stuff by hand though, found an old vintage fountain pen in a box of my mom’s things and fell in love. Hence why you’re receiving letters written in such beautiful inks. Sadly pretty stylish handwriting was not included, but whatever.

The most recent development of major importance in my life was probably getting my kitten. His name is Damon cause he’s a tiny little eenie weenie demon. He’s adorable but will definitely kill me when given the chance. I love him.

Anyway, I’m both running out of things to say about myself and running out of time to say them. 

So that’s all folks!

Best, 

Stiles Stilinski

P.S.: I hope you enjoy the entertainment!

P.P.S.: Here’s a picture of Damon, see it and awe 

P.P.P.S.: Tell me something about yourself that’s not a lie or shrouded in mystery?

P.P.P.P.S.: Say hi to Laura, Cora and Dora for me, tell them I’m taking super good care of the apartment and that there’s definitely no dirty mugs all over the place or a pile of dishes in the sink. And that Damon has definitely never climbed the curtains. 

“Fuck millennials, those who are born between 1981 and 1996, so fuck me I suppose.” - Peter Hale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it, let us know what you think while we wait for Peter to reply <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Thank you all so much for the kind comments and kudos, we love getting feedback from our readers and will do our best to respond to everyone as quickly as possible.
> 
> If there's anything you particularly liked, hated or would love to see more of, please let us know!
> 
> For those of you who can't read the smaller pictures of the letters in the work: we're going to start adding the direct URLs to Imgur in the notes so that you can access the original images and zoom in!
> 
> Today's images:  
> https://i.imgur.com/NfwmvFC.jpg   
> https://i.imgur.com/MTJZn3x.jpg  
> https://i.imgur.com/GyrlO7S.jpg

Dear bratboy,

We'll just have to see if that gag reflex of yours is as good as you say. I dare say there's always room for improvement, especially when it comes to tongues slipping deep and hard. I'm not going to object to being called Daddy though, just saying. 

And you ask me to keep writing you? You are an insolent, loud mouthed brat who has been accusing me of lying and being part of a cult ever since he read a letter that wasn't addressed to him. So, what do you think I’ll do? Of course I'll keep you updated and I'd love to continue writing you. That wasn't sarcasm, by the way. I genuinely like our conversations, even though I sometimes want to throttle you. You're witty, intelligent and actually quite likable.  
  
So. Introductions. Peter Hale. Burn victim. Still handsome despite that and I have a great ass to boot. I like taking long walks on the beach and- wait, wrong platform. Sorry. I’m not good at introductions. I always struggle to think of what to say and share. I’m more of a ‘you’ll find out as we’re talking’ guy. I CAN tell you, however, that I love to cook and am damn good at it. If you want I can give you some healthy recipes for your dad that taste so good he’ll never think about cheating on his diet ever again? My favourite take out food is sushi, but I won’t say no to a gorgeous burger either.

I really don't believe Laura's assessment of you is that wrong. Which makes the idea that you were a lot worse not that long ago quite terrifying. And if you think a 90 year old man is peace and calm personified, you obviously never met Grandpa Hale. He was one hell of a fire cracker and would box your ears if he'd still be alive to hear you call senior citizens like him "calm". He would agree with you that there's no thing as overly snarky, so you've got that going for you.

Also, I owe you a huge favour. You may just have saved my sanity by sending me that USB stick. Yes, I have a laptop and we actually have electricity here. I’m currently working my way through the remainder of the Avengers movies. I just finished Civil War and am definitely in team Cap. Not in the least because standing behind Bucky seems like a wonderful place to be. The best view and all that. As much as I enjoy the movies, I’m not overly fond of comics. Sorry. Too many pictures to my taste. I am thrilled with the giant selection of ebooks, though. I’ve started in Meddling Kids because it spoke to my inner child’s love of Scooby Doo. I’ll let you know later what said Inner Child thought of it. If you have any recommendations for which book to start next, I’m all ears.

So you’re an aspiring writer. I should’ve known, considering how wordy you can be. Have you actually written something that you can share yet, or is it still mostly aspiring and less writing? Any particular genres that you prefer? 

The inks you use are indeed beautiful. I actually noticed it before and was about to ask you where you bought the pens that use it. But a fountain pen with actual ink explains a lot. Did finding that pen from your mom spark a pen collecting habit as well, or does handwriting with it satisfy your pennish cravings?

Oh God, you have a kitten? Kiss your toes goodbye, my man. Kittens pounce on them while you’re sleeping. I still wince when I think back to Schmooples, Cora’s kitten when she was a toddler. We got it because we thought it would be an educational experience for the kids, teaching them how to take care of a vulnerable creature and all that. Biggest mistake of my life. That fucking menace tore up the couch and completely ignored the very expensive scratching post we got him. He peed in my shoes as revenge because I yelled at him for tearing up said couch. Hairballs. Hairballs everywhere. It was a terrible experience all around. I loved him to bits, even though I definitely prefer dogs over cats.

I have to go for now, Satomi says she needs someone to help her chop wood for the fireplace. ‘Winter is coming,’ she says. Since it’s been winter for a while now, I think someone has been dipping a bit too much into the Game of Thrones episodes you sent me.

Best

P. Hale

P.S.: Your demon looks ridiculously cute. Be careful. That’s how they get you.

P.P.S.: Something about myself that’s not a lie or shrouded in mystery: I like my coffee strong and black. Tea is just hot leaf juice.

P.P.P.S.: Laura and Cora told me to say hi back. Derek told me to say that his name is not Dora and that you can fuck right off for being such a slob. 

P.P.P.P.S. What’s your favourite book and/or story?

“You little shit.” - Peter Hale


	8. Chapter 8

Dear Peter, 

I was fully prepared to start this letter off with another snarky innuendo, but - and I cannot believe I’m saying this - I was quite touched by all your compliments in your last letter. “I genuinely like our conversations, even though I sometimes want to throttle you. You’re witty, intelligent and actually quite likeable.” You move me. Be still my beating heart. I can’t believe you want to throttle me only sometimes. I have never felt more appreciated in my life. “Actually quite likeable” doesn’t sound overly surprised either, just a teeny little bit surprised. I’ve never managed to win someone over quite so quickly.

But then you moved on to kind of somewhat maybe a little bit comparing me to your grandfather???!! I’m sure the old man was lovely, but consider me offended!

Also, once again, you’re really not helping me think you don’t belong to a cult if all you can tell me about yourself is food related. Speaking of which.

  1. If you love to cook so much, don’t bother with the recipes, feel free to come cook for me and my dad in person.
  2. But also I’m not actually saying no to the recipes.
  3. Sushi is great. Burgers are also great. I’ll take a shake and curly fries with mine please and thank you. 
  4. Just because you put it in the P.S., don’t think I didn’t notice you being rude about tea. I like coffee in my milk as much as the next guy, but tea is great! (Honestly, strong and black coffee is awful and if I didn’t already feel like I had a decent grasp on what your personality is like, I’d say you were a bitter bastard).



Team Cap all the way, dude! And yes, Bucky’s ass is all the reasons why. This is enough thanks, honestly, fangirl over spandex-clad superhero asses with me and you can consider your favour paid. Comics aren’t for everyone, but I’m not going to pretend to not be disappointed. And I feel compelled to point out that “too many pictures” is the worst excuse, what do you think movies consist of? 

If you don’t mind YA, go for Illuminae next, very different, will blow your mind. Or if you want some fantasy, anything by Brandon Sanderson or A Darker Shade of Magic or…. Nope, this is a bad idea, if I actually start listing things I’ll just end up with a randomized list of all the books I sent you. Which is also the reason why I will not, ever, in a million years, tell you what my favorite book or story is. All books are my babies, all stories are great, everything depends on context and I don’t have a favorite. I’d appreciate it if you would never ask me to pick and choose between all the good this world has to offer ever again. I don’t want to write something down so you can hold it against me for eternity even though my favorite book/song/movie/comic book/tv show changes like every fucking hour. 

But you should also definitely read The Night Circus. 

NOPE! I AM NOT DOING THIS!

WRITER! I AM ONE! Which is the topic I’ll be moving onto now before I’m fully going into a crisis over what my favorite book is. I’m serious. Don’t ask me again. 

I have written some things. Under a pseudonym. That you will never find. But it might be on that USB drive. You’ll never know. I’ve mostly written fantasy. Some good, some bad, some porn. I really like urban fantasy or like magical realism type stuff. Look at what a beautiful sentence. I’m an author.

I mostly write with my mom’s old pen, but I love branching out and also I can’t just use one pen with one single color for extended periods of time. Give me variety! Give me change! Give me excitement!

Surprisingly Damon has not attacked my toes yet. Well… surprisingly. He goes for my face instead, which is not a good way to wake up during the night. And I doubt it’s good for the kitten if I keep throwing him off the bed (in my defense: I can’t be held responsible for my actions when I wake up to a demon scratching my face up. It also happened only once). Now he sleeps in his own room because I don’t enjoy going through life trying to explain what the fuck happened to my face to every single person I meet throughout the day. (Shut up, just because I work from home and spend a lot of time at home doesn’t mean I don’t see people. The delivery guy was very freaked out and concerned.)

Schmooples sounds like… well I was going to say that he does sound like a menace, but I think he sounds exactly like the cat you deserve. No offense, I also think Damon is exactly the menace I deserve. 

Okay, I was about to sign off, but I just realized that this Satomi person is making a recently awoken coma patient chop wood and there’s so much to say about that but at the same time I have no words. NO WORDS!

Best, 

Stiles

P.S.: Really glad you decided you also like writing me.

P.P.S.: Dora has no proof I’m a slob, in fact if I recall correctly I expressly denied being one. If he wants proof he should come over and explore.

P.P.P.S.: Because you put me through the mental anguish of this question: What’s your favorite book? And as revenge, also… What’s your favorite movie? What’s your favorite song? What’s your favorite tv-show? Who’s your favorite niece/nephew?

“You spelled ‘my’ wrong.” - Stiles Stilinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look what the mailman brought today! Let us know what you think <3   
> What's a book you've enjoyed recently?


	9. Chapter 9

  
  


5 Feb

Dear Stiles,

You do realize that your sarcasm about me being nice means I won't ever do it again, right? It also definitely added another stroke to the 'Want to throttle' tally. Though maybe I should feel sorry for you if you've never felt more appreciated. Being compared to Grandpa Hale is a huge compliment, even if you can't hold a candle to the sheer embodiment of awesome that he was in life.

And yes, you're right, you've finally worn me down. I admit it. The Hales are a cult. We worship werewolves and dance naked under the full moon, howling at the nightsky. Some of us take this quite far and will wear special tails. Our biggest rivals are the Vampire Clan from to towns over. They want to hog all the moonlight because it makes them sparkle all pretty. We suspect they set fire to our house. Because that's what nemeses do. You'd better be careful writing me, they might get jealous and track you down. Might I suggest eating two garlic bulbs daily to fend them off? Raw?

I might cook for you and your dad some day. If you behave and act nice. Oh, and when those pesky vampires are gone, obviously.

Alright, recipe time! How about a nice winter stew? An Osso Buco is healthy, delicious and filling. It's a Milanese dish of veal shanks and fairly easy to prepare. This'll serve four people, but he can adjust the amounts for less people.

  * 2 onions

| 

  * 1 carrot

| 

  * 1 stick celery

  
---|---|---  
  
  * 4 veal shanks

| 

  * 2 tbsp flour

| 

  * 2 tbsp butter

  
  
  * 1 tbsp tomato sauce

| 

  * 200 ml white wine

| 

  * 1 bay leaf

  
  
  * 2 sprigs thyme

| 

  * ½ tsp ground cloves

| 

  * 1 pinch saffron

  
  
  * 750 ml chicken stock

| 

  * 3 plum tomatoes

| 

  * 1 tbsp lemon zest

  
  
  * 4 tbsp chopped parsley

| 

  * 1 clove garlic

| 


  
  
1\. Finely dice the onions and carrot. Dice the celery the same size. Season the shanks with the flour, salt and pepper. Add 1 tbsp of butter to a large saucepan or stockpot over a high heat and add the shanks. Fry on each side for 5 min until caramelised to a deep brown. Remove the shanks from the pan and set aside.  
  


2\. Add 1 tbsp of butter to the pan & add the onions. Add a dash of water to wash off the sticky veal bits. Fry gently over medium low heat for 10 mins until translucent and beginning to brown (the onions, not you). Add carrot and celery and fry for another 5 mins, then add the tomato puree. Cook out for a final 5 mins before adding the wine. Put the veal back in the pan with the bay leaf, thyme, cloves and saffron. Pour the chickenstock in until it just covers the veal. Bring to a boil then turn down to a simmer. Simmer for 90 mins until the sauce has reduced and the veal is falling off the bone. 

3\. Blanch the tomatoes in boiling water for 10 seconds, then remove and peel them. Remove the seeds and dice the flesh. Put it in a small mixing bowl and add lemon zest and parsley. Peel & mince the garlic and add it to bowl. Stir until combined.

4\. Shower, relax, make some polenta or mashed potatoes.

5\. Serve the veal over some cooked palenta & sauce. Top with parsley & tomato mix.

6\. Have Stiles do the dishes.

Enjoy!

You... drink coffee with your milk? That's such a waste of perfectly good coffee, what did it ever do to you to deserve such a treatment? Next thing you'll tell me you add milk to your leaf juice as well. And being a bitter bastard is the result of getting burned to a crisp. Keep your cowfluid away from my coffee. Thankfully Satomi and her family agree with me on this and we have a decent coffee machine. None of the Nespresso or Dolce Gusto nonsense in this house, thank you very much. Or even worse... instant coffee. Blegh.

Speaking of coffee, would you like to grab a cup with me once I'm out of this revalidation period? Decent coffee. So none of those Starbucks desserts. We could talk about deeply troubling things, like your inability to pick a favourite book. How hard can that be? Just picture you being able to save just one book from an all consuming fire. I would always go for Papillon by Henri Charrière. In the original French, of course. Les Misérables by Victor Hugo is a decent contender. There, easy. But I'll give Illuminae a try. The Meddling Kids was not quite my thing, so we'll see how Illuminae fares. It's also good to know that asking about a favourite actually pushes your buttons. I'll remember this. So, tell me about your fave song, show and movie?

Let's see, a fantasy writer with good/bad stuff who wrote porn. Shouldn't be too hard to figure out what your pseud is. How many fantasy porn writers can there be, really? I'm looking forward to reading all the awkward sex scenes you came up with. Maybe give some pointers.

Wow, so Damon skipped the toes stage and went straight for the face, huh? I feel for you. You can alway tell people you went jogging. Through some brambles. Still weird, but less emasculating than 'My kitten tried to maim me and succeeded'. We used to slide Schmooples away, like a fuzzy bowling ball. Dumb thing always came back for more.

We actually suspect there might be a cat or some other critter squatting underneath the house. We hear it squeaking since last night. I've put out some catfood and milk in hopes of luring it out.

I love animals. More so than humans. With animals you'll know where you stand. A spider won't pretend to be your friend before biting. A hamster won't laugh behind your back. Even snakes and rats make their intentions clear. But most of us humans? Bah.

And Satomi made me help chop wood. I mean, I could have easily actually chopped wood because magical healing werewolf cult. But instead I just picked up the split logs from the ground. You weirdo.

Attached you'll find one (1) snapshot of my mug. I couldn't convince my housemates to snap me an ass pic, so you'll have to trust this artist's rendition:  
  


Also, that's shading and highlights. Not hair. I'm an artist.

Anyway, since I can't top anything that magnificent, it's time to wrap this up. Looking forward to your reply.

Cordially yours,

Peter

P.S. Derek says he's coming over. Better check those locks.

P.P.S. Fave movie: The Green Mile. Song: Memory (Cats). TV-Show: MASH. Niece: Laura. Easy Peasy.

'You can just supercalifragilistickissmyassadocious' - Peter Hale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for all your lovely comments and book recommendations! Please ignore what Stilienski said and DO get me started about Terry Pratchett! He's only my favourite author. We love to hear what you think, so don't be shy and reach out.
> 
> The full credit for the (freely available and shareable) recipe goes to Sorted Food, do check out their YouTube vids if you ever have the time! They're awesome. https://sortedfood.com/recipe/ossobuco 
> 
> Peter's picture came from Ian's own Instagram (@ianbohen), edited by yours truly. 
> 
> Full sized images of the letters for today can be found here:  
> https://i.imgur.com/DNku1yV.jpg  
> https://i.imgur.com/JErlzfk.jpg  
> https://i.imgur.com/vSqAMN6.jpg  
> https://i.imgur.com/Zy5ej3r.jpg
> 
> Please keep in mind that opinions expressed by the characters do not necessarily reflect our own views. (I love tea and Starbucks coffee)


	10. Chapter 10

Dear Peter, 

(Figured you’d like to know that I’m writing this letter while the stew is simmering away. Yeah, my dad wouldn’t know how to cook anything more involved than an omelette. So he’s doing the dishes, thank you very much.)

(Okay fine that’s not true, the dishwasher is doing the dishes because I don’t live with my dad anymore.)

I’m pretty sure that asking me out for coffee and agreeing to cook for my dad and I and giving me a nice healthy recipe counts as being nice. Don’t go acting all tough guy on me, we both know it’s just that, an act. Also, I’m not into being throttled, I might be willing to give choking a go, but in the future I’d like for us to have a healthy discussion about our respective kinks before you go around promising/threatening stuff. 

It’s probably an uncomfortable leap from kink discussions to your grandpa, but I wish I’d met Grandpa Hale if you say he’s that awesome. Although maybe the werewolf cult thing should give me some pause. Speaking of, there are some inconsistencies in your werewolf cult story. Which worries me. First you’re worshipping werewolves wearing furry buttplugs, and then suddenly you are werewolves by the end of your letter? Clearly there is actually something about werewolves going on and it’s obviously not the worshipping part because you couldn’t stick with that story. 

Are you a werewolf, Peter? You seem to know a lot about their healing abilities. 

Okay I was going to make a joke and I googled the lunar cycle for the night of the fire and it was a new moon which must be the time werewolves are at their weakest, so what gives, Peter????!!! 

I might have fallen into a werewolf lore research hole for a bit, but I’m back, baby!

On to reacting to the rest of your… frankly ridiculous statements. If you love your precious coffee so much, why are you denying it its rights to the glory that is milk and sugar? And yes, for your information I do add milk to my tea because I like myself a good dose of cream. At least I did till you started calling it cowfluid, you disgusting pig. Honestly, you deserve instant coffee.

But I guess I’ll take you up on that coffee date anyway (we both know it’s a date, you drew me a picture of your ass for fuck’s sake, don’t try to skirt around it by just asking if I’d want to grab a cup with you) because I would love to see your face when you witness just what kind of atrocities I can do to my coffee. Also maybe cause I just want to see your face in person. See you give me a lovely selfie and you draw me a picture of your ass and it just makes me want to see more of the real thing. 

Just for your information, I am so fucking offended that you think it’s troubling I can’t pick a favourite book. Honestly, I find it bordering on psychotic that anyone can pick a favourite book. There is no such thing as a favourite book that works for any occasion or is just somehow the best. NO SUCH THING! (Don’t even get me started on your pretentious bullshit!) A favourite book depends on the situation you were in when you first read it, and the situation you’re in when you’re picking a favourite book. And then there’s the fact that just because one book might be my favourite tear jerker that doesn’t mean that my favourite comedy book isn’t just as good in a different way. Also before you ask, no, I don’t actually have a favourite tear jerker or comedy book because I’m not a sociopath. How can you choose between the babies, you monster!

Now we’re on the topic of monsters, good fucking luck finding my books in the trash mountain of monster fucker literotica. And I don’t need pointers, or inspiration, though that drawing of your ass is making me want to write sparkly hairy werewolf porn. Yeah you can tell me it’s not hair, that doesn’t make it look any less like hair. The opposite really. It didn’t look like hair till you told me it wasn’t supposed to look like hair. (I wasn’t even going to mention how the shiny spots on the butt cheeks look like two i’s and how that really says so much about you and your ego, but… well… I had to because you made fun of my lack of favouritism.)

Also, I am not letting the chopping wood thing go especially not combined with the werewolf thing and the “revalidation period” you’re supposedly in but really you aren’t because you were out CHOPPING WOOD LAST TIME! Your story doesn’t add up, buddy, and I’ll figure it out. 

Speaking of figuring things out, any more news on the fire? Don’t tell me you’re not looking into things, I know you are. 

Please find included an artist’s rendering of my ass. (The artist is me. I didn’t go out to the halloween store to get me a slutty maid outfit and batman panties so I could pose in front of an artist. I went to the halloween store to get me a slutty maid outfit and I already owned the batman panties and I just posed in front of the mirror to draw this beautiful self portrait. You’re welcome.) 

Looking forward to the next letter and keep me posted on the time and place of our coffee date. 

We both know it’s a date, Peter.

Hugs and butt drawings, 

Stiles

(Yes I am going to grab a new sheet of paper just for the P.S., the list of P.S. ramblings are our thing now, Peter.)

  
  


P.S. I’d like to remind Dora that my dad’s THE SHERIFF AND HE OWNS A GUN!

P.P.S. Good movie, terrible musical, very old tv-show (honestly when are you from?), Laura? Honestly? My bets would have been on Cora, she seems like just as much of an insufferable asshole as you while Laura was civil and polite…. Strange.

P.P.P.S. I hope I’m not being too forward about the date thing, I’m honestly maybe a teeny tiny bit worried it’s not a date now, but I’m just saying that it could definitely be a date if you want to, I feel like we… You know… there’s something there, right? Right? Please say I’m right. 

“Maybe I will if you ask nicely.” - Stiles Stilinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made that drawing years ago and it should never have seen the light of anyone's screens, but... I guess this fic just called for it. My apologies. 
> 
> Let us know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

Dear Stiles,

How was the stew? Was it to your liking? It's a personal favourite so I'm always weirdly concerned about other people's opinions on it. And if your dad can read and follow instructions, he can cook. Cooking is simply chopping up ingredients, chucking them in a pan and leave it there for a period of time. Just follow the recipe to know which ingredients, what pan, how hot and how long. Easy as pie.

I like being the tough guy. It means I get to wear the cool sunglasses and leather jacket. Sometimes I swap the leather jacket for a denim one. Sometimes a different piece of clothing is leather instead. It definitely isn't an act, even tough guys can be nice to snotty brats.

SPeaking of being a snotty brat, it's amazing how you get 'Peter is a werewolf' as a conclusion from a story about buttplug wearing magical werewolf worshippers and sparkly vampires. Why not make me a vampire instead? Or a ghoul? Did my squeaky ass drawing not relay the message that I do not have body hair issue? Should I have shaved before taking that pic? Or are you simply projecting a lifelong fantasy on me? Because, hey, I'm in for a bit of roleplay if you are. I know just the place for a lovely werewolf tail. Rawr. No choking or throttling, thanks.

The investigation into the fire is... well, quite frankly, it's officially not going at all. I have an appointment with my lawyers next week, who will then be in contact with the lead investigators. So, you know, it'll be another five years before we officially hear anything. Unofficially... let's just say that I have a few names that I let ~~Dora~~ Derek and Cora sniff out. Get it? 'Sniff' out? Because of the werewolf thing? But I'm keeping those names to myself for a bit until I'm more sure about them. Wouldn't want to accuse innocent people, of course.

I relayed your threat about guns and the strong fatherly arm of the law to my dear nephew. He chortled (I kid you not) and just drove off. I'm not sure he's at all intimidated. I'm fairly sure he's just kidding and you won't find him sitting in your dark living room when you come home late one night, wearing white gloves to check for dust. Probably.

And let's be honest here you totally deserve my nephew visiting for defiling good coffee with milk and sugar. I'm not the disgusting one here for naming cow fluid, you're the disgusting one for putting it in your coffee. Though I once drank genuine Kopi Luwak, so maybe I shouldn't judge you too hard. Go ahead, Google it, I'll wait. Putting milk in leaf juice is just gross. It turns an already sad excuse for a beverage into an even sadder beverage, but with udder extract. Revolting.

It's so weird that you can't pick a favourite! How can you let exterior circumstances influence the quality of anything?! A movie doesn't become bad because I stubbed my toe the morning I decide to watch it! The same goes for books! And maybe my choices can be considered pretentious by some uncultured minds, but that doesn't take away from the fact that it's my favourite. You weirdo. How about just a simply top 3? Or is even that too hard for you. You do know books don't have feelings, right? They're not actual babies! Oh no, don't tell me you're one of those people who actually talk to their books. ... You are, aren't you? Do you give them nicknames? I'm surprised you read them at all, what if you damage the pages or cover? Or do you not do physical books at all?

Holy shit, there is so much monster fucking literature! Why is there so much of it?? Who even reads this?? Aside from me, that is. I'm only reading this as research in my quest to find your handle. Obviously. And if you do write your sparkly hairy werewolf porn, I'd like my ass to get all the credit it's due. Also, the vampires are sparkly, not the werewolves. Unles they're participating in Rio's Carnival festivities. What makes you think they're shiny spots and not actualy I's that I had tattooed there to celebrate my massive, enormous, throbbing ego?

I applaud your artistic skills and choice of underwear. Much better than mine, in both cases. Though maybe snap a picture for me next time, so I can properly judge your... uh, drawing skills. I'm now wondering if the Batsignal summons you, your panties, or if those panties are a Batsignal. You hoping to catch yourself a Bat man, dear boy?

Please do keep me updated on what you've figured out about me and my story. I'll let you know when you're getting close. I'm convinced your theories will be more intriguing and captivating than reality. I'll put popcorn at the ready.

So! It turns out that the squeaky creature under the house was not a cat. I included a picture of our newest resident at Satomi's. Her name is Chica and she's a squirrel. Sadly, her mom is no longer alive. It seems a cat got to her and that was the squeaking we heard. We found Chica next to her, poor thing. Her eyes are still closed and she was freezing1 So we warmed her up inside while Cora went out for some Esbilac (it's a milk replacer). It's still unsure if she'll make it, but she's warm and has had a few drops of formula. And before you sic your dad on me, we have a license to handle wildlife here. No illegal baby squirrel raising here.

So, that's it from me for today! I need to groom my sparkly werewolf butt.

Hugs,

Peter.

P.S: Of course P.S. ramblings are now our thing. Who would put topics and information in the body of the actual letter? Not us!

P.P.S.: How dare you call Webber's Cats terrible. You heathen!

P.P.P.S: MASH is old, yes. But so, so, so good. Like me.

P.P.P.P.S: That's why Laura is my fave. I can't deal with another me.

P.P.P.P.P.S.: Okay, I've left you in suspense long enough now. My suggestion to grab some coffee wasn't serious and more a dig at your weird inability to pick a fave. Sorry.  
However, I wouldn't mind meeting up sometime. Because, you know... there might be something there. I'm just not sure what yet. Let's find out.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: Don't let Derek take you out for Valentines. I'm a jealous jerk.

"I'm better at commanding."- 'Tough Guy' Peter Hale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pic credit goes to Wildlife Rescue & Rehabilition, inc! Editing done by moi.
> 
> Original imgur links:  
> https://i.imgur.com/lnW5ebr.jpg  
> https://i.imgur.com/PmVXKgB.jpg  
> https://i.imgur.com/I8shqw3.jpg  
> https://i.imgur.com/46PDfMd.jpg  
> https://i.imgur.com/AkXAgP2.jpg


	12. Chapter 12

Dear Peter, 

You have no clue. None whatsoever. _“If your dad can read and follow instructions, he can cook.”_ Ha! Sure! That day when you’re coming to cook for my dad and I - oh yes, you bet your shiny hairy ass that day is coming - I challenge you to finish a plate of whatever you’ll have my dad cook. If it’s not an omelette, you won’t be able to stomach it, I don’t care how tough you are. 

That’s a lie, I care, how tough are you?

Oh right, I remember, you’re cool sunglasses and leather jacket kinds of tough. Whew. Boy, you sure are tempting.

(You can thank me for pretending you’re a tough guy now. Honestly, you couldn’t come up with anything better than “I wear sunglasses to hide my insecure puppy eyes and my leather jacket is my emotional armour”)

Just because you’re into buttplugs and into puppy play does not mean you’re not a werewolf. Although I assume puppy play (not to mention furry stuff) is some sort of very weird cultural appropriation kind of thing when werewolves are involved, it doesn’t exclude you from being a werewolf. Maybe a werewolf who’s into humiliation too. 

No, that can’t be right. No way are you into humiliation. You’re too damn sure of yourself all the time. 

And don’t even try that vampire or ghoul thing with me, you mentioned werewolves in the very first letter that wasn’t even addressed to me… holy shit. I swear to god if I was even a little bit tipsy right now I would totally start another conspiracy theory on your family. Forget cult. Werewolf pack it is. 

It’s good to hear you’re not giving up on the fire investigation even though you can’t go through the official channels right now. I’m sure something must pop up though, it’s too fishy for it not to. My dad couldn’t justify the use of the station’s resources when the fire investigator’s report came back to reveal no foul play, but half the town has at least a feeling that it wasn’t just an accident. It’s so goddamn fishy, dude, if nothing turns up, I’ll eat my hat. I don’t have a hat, so I’ll go buy one and then eat it. 

If Dora shows up at my place, I’ll call Swiper. A werewolf against a criminal fox… I’d pay to see that fight. I’m serious though, Dora is not invited. But if he’s going to check for dust, don’t do it with white gloves, they’ll get all dirty, do it with a vacuum. Across the whole apartment. For a scientific investigation into my cleanliness of course. 

And my cleanliness is great. I am so clean that I’m afraid I’ll have to skip over the entire paragraph of you drinking watered down POOP BUT HAVING THE BALLS TO JUDGE ME FOR MY LEAF JUICE. YOU ARE DESPICABLE!

AND NO. Would you just quit that already? I’m not picking a favourite book. I’m not. I’m not picking 10 favourites, or 5 favourites, or 3. I’m. Not. Picking. Favourites. Definitely not for your pretentious ass to judge them. They’re my babies and you can’t judge my babies! I won’t let you! 

That being said, who the fuck are “those people” who talk to their books? Who on earth give books nicknames??? They already have a title! 

(the title is “sir”, and they’re above nicknames because their true names are too iconic. Sir Lotsawords.)

I can neither confirm nor deny that I avoid reading the nice physical copies of my books because it might damage the spine… or the covers… the front… the back...

Speaking of damaging the back. Yes. There is so much monster fucking literature. It is great. I’m so happy to have shown you that entirely new world of lovely wholesome content. I bet you’ll forget all about which monster sparkles and which doesn’t. Though in some Twilight inspired monster fucking literature, in the end everyone sparkles. Some streaks on their faces, some lines of glitter dripping down someone’s thighs…. and some are just blessed with glittery hands by the time the story comes to a spectacular finish. 

I’m glad you liked the drawing. I’ll think about the picture, though it’s not fucking likely since you just flirted with me for like an entire goddamn month and then when I ask you out after you strongly suggested I ask you out, you say it’s not a date. No pictures of my glorious booty for people who don’t want to properly appreciate it. 

But if you ever are ready to properly appreciate it, you should test out the Batsignal. 

There’s nothing to keep you updated on, wolfboi. You’re a werewolf. Clearly. If you’re not, you’re part of a furry cult and I don’t want to think about that possibility. Luckily…

SQUIRREL

CHICA THE SQUIRREL OH MY GOD I WANT TO PET HER SO BAD IS SHE SOFT? IS SHE STILL ALIVE? IS SHE SOFT? I BET SHE’S SOFT! GIVE ME THE SQUIRREL! FORGET ABOUT THE WEREWOLF MYSTERY, PLEASE BE A WERESQUIRREL INSTEAD IMAGINE THAT GLORIOUS TAIL SIZED TO FIT A HUMAN OH MY GOD PETER I SO HOPE YOU’RE A WERESQUIRREL!

Pets, 

Stiles

P.S. Putting topics and information in the body of the letter is so boring. 

P.P.S. Cats is terrible. The music is terrible. The show is an acid trip, followed by a fever dream, and ultimately followed by a hangover because no one gets through that sober. 

P.P.P.S. I’ll give MASH a go soon. Though I doubt you’re as good as any TV show. No I take that back, you’re like… Keeping Up With the Kardashians. Utter trash, beautiful, ridiculous drama that doesn’t seem like real life at all, full of yourself, a super shiny ass and did I mention utter trash?

P.P.P.P.S. You’d love to deal with another you, stop lying. You’d fuck your clone. That’s the kind of person you are and we both know it. 

P.P.P.P.P.S. You’re a cruel man, Peter Hale. But I guess I can accept your rejection for now. 

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Nope, I can’t accept your rejection any longer, since you’re acting like a jealous jerk over freaking Dora, who is not even coming over. You’re ridiculous. 

“So you're a tough guy, like it really rough guy, just can't get enough guy, werewolf or is it woof guy. I'm that bad type, valentine’s day sad type, make you promise date night, might seduce your nephew type, I have it bad, guy, duh.” - Billie Eilish with absolutely no alterations to these lyrics made by yours truly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in a time crunch and wasn't able to handwrite the letters in time, I'll add them later, promise! 
> 
> Hope you still like it <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey all! Chapter 13 already! Can you believe it's already mid February? I swear it was Christmas only yesterday.
> 
> Anyway, here's the links to the original IMGUR images:
> 
> https://i.imgur.com/dxF5ktE.jpg  
> https://i.imgur.com/9acNaVj.jpg  
> https://i.imgur.com/On2CAc9.jpg  
> https://i.imgur.com/xVQ5xfZ.jpg
> 
> I'm sorry for the absolute mess I made of the letters. I dropped the fountain pen just when I'd finished and... well... it's a flippin' mess. 
> 
> Also a gentle reminder that this is only a fic. If you really do find a baby squirrel in your backyard, please don't try to raise it yourself but leave it out for its mother to find or take it to a proper wildlife care facility!

Dear Stiles,

If what you're saying about your dad is true and not a gross exaggeration, then why don't you teach him? Assuming, of course, that it's actual ineptitude on his side and not unwillingness. And it makes me wonder who taught you how to cook. I promise, no, I _swear_ on my shiny, perky ass that not only will I come to cook for you and your dad but I will also take him through a few easy recipes step by step. Together me and your dad will show you that you were wrong about him.

Speaking of your dad, I have an appointment with him next week to give an official statement about the accident and my non-death. I wanted to ask if your dad has any allergies. I'm baking oatmeal cookies to bring along and I don't want to accidentally kill my penpal's dad. Do you have any allergies? I was going to ask if you have a favourite type of cookie, but I didn't want to make your brain implode. Again. Just let me know what you'd like and I'll pass some on to your dad to give to you, alright? You can have him check them for poison if you like and don't trust me yet (Stranger danger!)

I'm touched to hear that you care about little old me. Also slightly offended that apparently my fashion choices do not convey my toughness. As you must know by know, I always try my best to convince you that what I tell you is actually true. So, what evidence do you need? Want me to beat someone up for you? Protect your honour? Open a particularly stubborn jar that defies the strength of your noodly arms? Tell you some juicy anecdotes about my toughness?

You're definitely right about me not being into humiliation. It has nothing to do with me being tough, it just rubs me the wrong way. Anyone who calls me names and tries to humiliate me can expect a black eye from me, not a hard on. I also don't particularly enjoy humiliating my partners. That's not to say I don't appreciate a nice, sweet, submissive plaything, quite the contrary. But humiliation stays out of my bed. And shower, kitchen, couch, desk, BDSM dungeon. (I apologize if I overshared) (I don't apologize if you secretly or not so secretly didn't mind)

In less tantalizing and more serious news: We've gotten a fairly strong lead on the fire. I can't really tell you any details yet (I know, I know) but I can tell you that your dad and half of the town were right. This wasn't an accident. So no need for you to buy a hat for dinner. Stick with stew. Or actual fish. You know, I thought knowing for sure that it's arson would piss me off more. Or, I don't know, some other strong emotion. Instead I just feel calm, determined to bring them to justice. Maybe it just hasn't quite sunk in yet. Then again, I was already so sure of foul play that I'd probably be furious if it had been an accident. Because that would imply sheer stupidity almost cost us our lives. At least now I can fight against something, _someone,_ for what they've done. And take revenge. In a lawful way. Obviously. Okay, I may be a little bit pissed off. Maybe.

By the way, Derek told me to tell you that while you're not as big a slob as you made yourself out to be, you'd still better put coasters under your mugs when sitting at his favourite desk. Especially that fugly Deadpool-mug (His words, not mine. I actually like Deadpool). He loved your Roomba, but was a bit puzzled about the dusters you ductaped to it. They looked like little arms. It weirded him out.  
He did like Damon. Though the belly was a trap. How is life with a kitten, by the way?

To be fair, the watered down poop coffee is highly overrated and was a one time thing. Unlike you and your leafjuice with cowfluid. I mean, you also eat crushed beetle carapaces if you ever eat red candy. It doesn't have to be a bad thing. Try everything at least once, and all that.

What makes you think I would judge your books? I'm not the one calling certain books 'pretentious'. What's wrong? Afraid you'll get a taste of your own medicine? That being said, I will grudgingly admit that I finished Illuminae last week and it may have bumped Les Mis from its second place. I'd hate you for this, but the book was brilliant! The characters, the plot, the formatting! <3 (Drawing hearts is manly as fuck. So is crying at that one scene when she figures it out. Shut up. I hate you.) I started Nightcircus last night and I have a bad feeling about this. You're going to ruin everything I thought I knew about my reading preferences, aren't you?

Okay, what the everlasting fuck is this polling sex stuff I found? I am so confused and intrigued at the same time! Did you write something in this genre? Plants freak me out now. Like some weird horny hayfever. Glitter jizz sounds terrible. Just imagine having to clean all that crap. Cora dropped a jar of glitter when she was a kid. The only thing that gets rid of glitter is burning the entire house down... oh wait...

If you're saying that all I need to do for a glorious booty pic is to ask you out for a date, then sure: Stiles, my dear boy, would you like to go out on a date with me sometime soonish? Disregarding the whole 'Stranger Danger' thing? And if no, could I at least get a picture of your smart mouth and accompanying face?

Chica is doing great! She's opened her eyes and sort of lives in the front pouch of Laura's hoodie when I'm not around. When I am around she prefers to snuggle up to me in either the crook of my neck or the hollow of my hands. We think she's about 4-5 weeks old and she should start running/climbing in the next few days. It won't be long before we can release her. Squirrels grow up fast! And yes, she's unimaginably soft. You have no idea.

How was your Valentines? Get any flowers, cards, chocolate? Or, y'know, all of those?

Snuggles,

Peter

P.S. The original Cats is a masterpiece, how dare you. Please tell me you at least like West Side Story.

P.P. S. Tell me again how I'm ridiculous for thinking Derek would visit?

P.P.P.S. A little rejection and denial never hurt anybody.

P.P.P.P.S. Okay, it does hurt. But this wasn't an actual rejection. And I'll make it up to you.

P.P.P.P.P.S. I would totally fuck my own clone. Because he has such a gorgeous ass. But this doesn't mean that I'd _love_ him. Or that I know how to deal with my niece who acts just like me.

"Yes, that's me. Take me or leave it: - Peter Hale. 


	14. Chapter 14

Oh my fucking god! 

I had just started to get used to the whole polite and proper letter format. Start with a lovely heartfelt “dear Peter”, reply to all the things in the order they appear in your letter, do a nice little sign-off and put a bunch of junk in the P.S. But I suppose we’re past that now. 

Because you, dear sir, are giving off some serious stalker vibes. And warning me about “stranger danger” twice in one letter did not help.

Why the fuck was Derek in MY apartment? I bought this place. I own it. I can do with it what I want. I can let my augmented roomba clean it, I can leave mugs on surfaces without using coasters like a fucking soccer mom, I can own Deadpool mugs and not be judged for it and I swear to god if he ever touched my cat again I will kill him. Who the fuck does that? Break into someone’s place to pet their cat? What kind of fucking psycho does that? 

And you have an appointment with my dad? Is that another way to show how you can get close to me? Go through my fucking father? What the fuck, Peter!

The only reason I’m not calling my dad right the fuck now to give a statement to the FUCKING POLICE, is because I know you now and this would totally be your idea of a prank that you didn’t think through at all. This crossed so many lines, Peter, so fucking many. 

And you’re going to have to learn somehow, if it’s not through police involvement it’ll be through my measures: a shorter letter, no date, and no pictures of my lovely smart mouth, or my accompanying face, or my glorious booty. Not even a picture of Damon. You get nothing.

I was going to stop there, but I’ve got more to say. Surprise. 

About my dad’s lack of cooking skills: it’s actual ineptitude on his side. And maybe some unwillingness to teach him on my side. Do not teach my dad to cook, he’ll find a way to make everything unhealthy. Also, again with the trying to get close to my dad to get close to me. Don’t start teaching my dad to cook just so both of you can gang up on me, I will not stand for it!

Speaking of things you should not, under any circumstance do: Don’t bake my dad any cookies. That’s both dietary advice for my dad and professional advice for you. Show up with cookies to that appointment and he’ll assume you’re buttering him up because you did something wrong. So no cookies. I can’t be any more clear about this. Do not show up with cookies. But if you want to make a healthy snack, no, neither of use have any allergies. 

I’m not replying to the kinky shit. I’m not giving you the satisfaction. You don’t deserve it because you’re a creepy stalker dude. 

I get being pissed off for people invading your home and making you feel unsafe by touching/harming your loved ones. So stop having Dora do it for you! Not cool! But I’m begrudgingly glad for you that the fire investigation is leading somewhere now. 

Okay, I told you you were getting a shorter letter and this is becoming longer and longer, so here’s some quickfire replies for the rest of your topics.

Of course the books I recommended to you are absolutely amazing. I have the best taste.

Pollen sex is great. I have definitely written some pollen sex scenes.

Glitter jizz is inconvenient though super fun for a blacklight party. 

No, I don’t want to go out with you. Not until you do some serious groveling. 

And the groveling might work better if you include more pics of Chica, preferably snuggled up to you.

My Valentine’s day was a normal Friday, no gifts, if this is you angling for info on a possible significant other: who do you take me for, Peter? I asked you out a couple letters ago! Would I do that if I was with someone? No! Because unlike some penpals, I’ve got some human decency. 

You suck.

The middle finger to you and Dora, 

Stiles

P.S. I don’t like musicals.

P.P.S. You’re the absolute worst for telling Dora to come to my place, but I guess you should thank him for vacuuming my apartment at least. Though this is still very much not cool. 

P.P.P.S A little rejection and denial always hurts, starting to think you’re not a werewolf but just a psycho with no feelings.

P.P.P.P.S. You better make it up to me. I’m expecting the whole nine fucking yards here, Peter. 

P.P.P.P.P.S. I’m serious. Flowers, chocolates, a goddamn teddy bear and a picture of you with your most sorry face on it. At LEAST.

“I’m leaving it for now.” - Stiles Stilinski

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little late but I've just been extremely busy and really wanted to post the pictures too this time!  
> Hope you like it! Let us know what you think!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, Peter sure messed up, didn't he?
> 
> Handwritten letter will be uploaded tomorrow because I've been terrible and forgot to order proper paper. 
> 
> This letter has been hand delivered to Stiles by courier, together with a bouquet of tulips, a box of chocolates and a huge teddy bear.

Dear Stiles,

Well, that was a lovely display of your temper. I’d make some jokes about being a firecracker and all that, but that seems inappropriate. You are absolutely right about some things though, and I owe you a (few) explanation(s).

You are absolutely right, Derek shouldn’t have broken into your home. I would completely understand if you wanted to press charges against him and break off all contact with me. I’m going to be completely honest with you here, Stiles (even though you may not believe me after what happened…) it may be incredibly dangerous to stay in contact with me. I asked Derek to quietly check out the town. Like I said, we’d made a few discoveries regarding the fire and I wanted to know if things were safe enough for us/me to return to Beacon Hills. I also specifically asked him to make sure you and your house were in no way compromised.

Should I have told you? Yes. Was it stupid of me not to tell you? Incredibly. Am I going to make it worse in the next paragraph? Possibly.

Derek told me that when he arrived at your apartment he found the door unlocked and ajar, and the security cameras disabled. He should’ve called the police and leave it to them. I’ve told him as much when he came back and he’ll apologize to you as well. (He suggested apologizing in person, but I figure that might be a bit too confrontational and unwise at this point) Instead of doing what he should have done, he entered your home to make sure you were in no danger. He couldn’t find anyone, but did notice that your Roomba had wedged itself stuck against one of your chairs so he decided to vacuum. Smart? No. Kind? Perhaps. Weird as fuck? Definitely. It was never meant as anything even resembling stalking and I can’t apologize enough for making it seem that way, but I hope you can eventually find it in you to believe me when I say that both me and Derek were only trying to look out for you and your well being.  
  
I’m used to taking care of things, for everybody I care about. I did so before the fire and I’ve been doing so ever since I woke up again a few weeks ago. I suppose that I've started to care for you and instinct just kicked in. It’s a second nature, so I didn’t even think twice about how this would make you feel and simply went for the jokes, simply assuming you’d think it’d be funny and not worrying at all. But you’re right. This is no laughing matter and absolutely not a prank. I’m not kidding when I say that you might be in danger. 

I know that telling you that I can’t go into details won’t fly with you right now, so I’m asking you… no, I’m _begging_ you to keep this silent until we’re ready to take steps. There's no telling what might happened if someone finds out you know. Our investigation has turned out that chances are extremely likely that we’ve been targeted by an influential family in Beacon Hills. Even if you decide to cut all ties with me, even if you’re freaked out by all this and don’t want to have anything to do with it, please be very cautious around anyone related to the Argents. They’re extremely dangerous, though they might seem like the most uptight and boring family you’ve ever met.

But, I did not ‘go through your fucking father’ to show you how I can get close to you. You can ask your dad. **He** was the one who contacted **me** because he wanted an official statement. Like I already told you. He will also tell you that I first suggested he talk to Satomi and not me. And I’m sure that if you insist hard enough he’ll also admit that he asked me to bring cookies over. I told him I was in the middle of a baking session when he called and we got to talking about it, which lead to him asking for a sample. I figured that sugar free oatmeal cookies would be a nice compromise between diet and tasty. I still brought them and he promised me to give two of the four cookies to you, so, you know, do what you want with those.  
  
And as you may recall, the topic of me cooking for you and your dad has been on the table for a while now. I was not trying to creep you out, just trying to be nice and keeping a conversation going. But I can imagine how it might come across if you’re already freaked out. So, for this I also apologize.

I have to admit that I’m a bit taken aback by you having a normal Valentines. I was specifically asking and angling about those gifts because I sent them to you. Twelve red roses (for the amount of letters we’d sent back and forth at the time), a big werewolf plushy with a heart collar and a box of chocolates. The delivery guy said you were not home at the time, but apparently your neighbour accepted them in your stead? A certain S. McCall? I thought it was weird that you hadn’t mention the gifts at all and I was simply subtly fishing for a compliment or… whatever.

I’m going to finish this letter and send it out to you, hoping that we can at least continue writing, despite everything. No Chica pictures this time, sorry. She’s still doing well, but she’s a bit camera shy.

Best,

Peter

P.S. Nightcircus is now my favourite book. You have ruined me.

P.P.S. I hope the accompanying tokens of my affection convey the amount of groveling I couldn't properly put to words in the letter. They should go nicely with the Valentines gifts, if you ever manage to retrieve them from Mr. McCall.

[ ](https://image.shutterstock.com/image-photo/mix-spring-tulips-flowers-near-600w-1043857738.jpg)


	16. Chapter 16

Dear Peter,

I’m not exactly sure what I expected. Somehow I did expect the gifts, since I explicitly asked for them. But a genuine letter? Nope. I expected a snarky, albeit funny, non-apology. And I could go deeper into what is clearly an insane leap of emotional growth for you, but there is way too much to unpack in your letter. So let’s get the basic emotional “I accept your apology” stuff out of the way first and then jump into all of the things and intrigue, honestly you were a comatose penpal, how have you just turned my life into the weirdest fucking conspiracy theory?

I very much appreciate the groveling, though you should know that it’s really because of my one-track mind that I’m accepting your apology this quickly. It was very much not okay to just come into my place uninvited, it was very creepy. Especially combined with all the joking you’d done about it in your letters. I understand why it happened under these fucking ridiculous spy-movie like circumstances, so maybe next time (though there better not fucking be a next time, Peter) start with the genuine explanation instead of more snarky jokes about stranger danger and Dora seeing my Roomba.

So yada yada, apology accepted, don’t ever do it again.

Moving swiftly on!

What.

The.

Fuck.

I’d really like to know next time you find out my place has been broken into by people that are somehow connected to an arson case that involved multiple counts of murder. Multiple murders, Peter! I need to know this stuff! When, in all of fiction, has it ever been a good idea to keep someone ignorant for their own safety? That shit backfires so damn quickly all the freaking time. We are NOT bringing that trope to life, you hear me? I refuse! Next thing you’ll suggest we split ways in a dark forest while we’re looking for a body! COME ON, PETER, WE ARE BETTER THAN THIS! We’re certainly smarter!

So I honestly don’t know what is going on in that pretty head of yours, but asking me to not clue my father in on everything right now sounds insanely stupid to me. Because if I disappear, no one will know that someone broke into my place not only closely after the previous owners disappeared, but also closely after my neighbor stole a package that links those previous owners back to me.

And you know who my neighbor actually is, Peter? Because it’s not officially Scott McCall, it’s Allison fucking Argent. Scott wouldn’t be able to afford that place in a million years, not with the college debt he’s in right now. I also know for a fact that it wasn’t him who accepted the package since he doesn’t actually live there permanently yet and also because I asked him and he hadn’t even seen any packages. Which I believe. Because Scotty is my bro. And also he can’t lie for shit, it’s pathetic and it constantly makes me question our friendship.

So right now the state of affairs is this: apparently the Argents (which is all kinds of fucking insane, Peter, they’ve been in this town forever and they’re model citizens, I checked their criminal records and there is nothing on them, not even a DUI or petty theft or an indecent exposure charge, nothing! Which I suppose is fishy in and of itself, but your claims of the Argent family being behind an arson case that – I can’t help but repeat this – involved MULTIPLE COUNTS OF MURDER, and was successfully covered up, and is somehow linked to two counts of breaking and entering into the home of yours truly, IS STILL INSANE). Okay that sentence went on forever and I’ll start over because I don’t even remember where I was going with it.

Right now your working theory is that the Argents murdered your family. To death. And drove the remaining members to flee to god knows where and change their names and… leave their beloved but comatose uncle in the care of a crazy wifi-hoarding lunatic who lives in the ass-end of nowhere with no professional medical care in sight.

And to add to that insanity, I can’t help but think that my neighbor, who has lived there ever since she graduated college, is somehow a plant from that very same family who rudely stole my Valentine’s day presents and upon seeing the name of the sender planned a break-in to… what? Oh my fucking god, do you think she bugged my place?

Peter, I feel incredibly icky right now and I want to move the fuck out. I fucking knew there was a catch when Laura sold me this apartment for half of its market value! This is so unfair! This place is the best thing that’s ever happened to me and it made us penpals and I don’t want to leave it but lord knows I do not want to stay!

Except I can’t leave, because the fucking spy nextdoor will ask questions and will immediately know what the fuck is up!

This is a disaster, Peter, and I need my dad to be involved because I can’t do this alone. You may be used to this because of all your werewolfy culty shit, but I am very much not! And I know you’re there for me and you can wax poetic about me not being truly alone, except I very much am because you’re very much not here and you can’t be here because apparently the Argents are conspiring to brutally murder the few people they missed the first time!

So I am going to go to the library, use a computer that is not my own and thus not as likely to be fucking bugged by a spy, see where I can order a shit ton of cockroaches or termites or whatever infestation that would make a good excuse to get the fuck out of here.

Which clearly voids Derek’s apology because I’m literally infesting his old home on purpose with vermin and creepy crawlies after he so diligently cleaned it. So, please don’t force him to apologize, I’ll apologize to him. Profusely.

Talk to you soon,

Stiles

P.S. Stay safe.

P.P.S. Take care of your family.

P.P.P.S. Seriously, Peter, stay safe. That’s an order. I mean it. You cannot drag me into this spy shit and then die, that would be so fucking unfair!

P.P.P.P.S. Please tell Derek I’m truly sorry and also that he’s forgiven and that I will make it up to him and will pay for the best exterminator in Beacon County after this has all blown over. Though I still maintain that this is my place now, I own it, and I can do whatever I want with it even if that means infesting the place with bugs. (Though I realize that’s kind of cruel to do to someone’s childhood home)

P.P.P.P.P.S. In the midst of all of this madness, I do find it really touching that you sent me something for valentine’s day. Hopefully next year I’ll actually receive your valentine’s day gifts. 

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. If it wasn’t clear for some reason, I’ve grown to care about you too, Peter, I’ve grown to care about you a great deal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then I just completely forgot saturday was post day. Woops?   
> Also look at that, we avoided Scott being a total fuck-up. Don't count on that happening ever again. 
> 
> Let us know what you think! <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyoooo, and we're back with a new chapter! The thick plottens!
> 
> Original images can be found here: https://imgur.com/a/zWQNy4b
> 
> Let us know what you think and what you would like to see in the future! We love getting comments <3

Stiles,

Allison  _ Argent _ is your  _ neighbour _ ? I’m not usually quick to panic, but in this case I really, really want to urge you to get the hell out of that apartment. I don’t know what her deal is, stealing Valentine gifts (seriously, what the fuck?) but it hardly seems like a coincidence to me that she’s suddenly involved now that we know who it was that murdered my family.

You can obviously clue your father in, but not your bestie Scott or his girlfriend or, y’know. Anyone who has no business knowing about this, because we have no idea who to trust at this point. Hell, up until that fiasco (where I violated your privacy and trust, for which I shall apologize and grovel until the end of times) I wasn’t even sure I could trust YOU, so keeping everyone in the dark seemed like the safest thing to do.

I assume you’ll already know this by the time this letter reaches you, because I spoke to your father yesterday afternoon (in his capacity as The Sheriff) but we know who the arsonist is. We just can’t physically prove it, so the police can’t actually DO anything. Which, frankly, is frustrating as all hell. And while the Argents may SEEM squeaky clean, at least one of them isn’t. Like I said, I don’t know what the deal with Allison is, but you need to seriously stay the fuck away from Kate Argent. She’s dangerous and possibly insane, because what other explanation is there for the kind of person that sets fire to a house and murders people, and I really don’t want any harm to come to you. And I swear to God, if anyone comes after you I’ll rip their fucking throat out. In a totally legal and non violent matter, of course, Mr. Stilinski, Sheriff, sir, in case you intercepted or accidentally read this letter.

So yes. By all means. Infest the apartment with bugs. Better yet, infest HER apartment with bugs. I’ll pay for any and all costs that may come up during this. But whatever you do, don’t stay there alone. Because I do not wax poetic. The only thing I wax is my ass. And possibly my legs, but if anyone asks I’ll deny that and will insist it’s nothing but slander and rumours. I will not tell you that you’re not truly alone and that I’ll be there for you in thought and heart and memory and all that other sentimental bullshit people spout in situations like this. Because you ARE alone there and it freaks me the hell out. 

And no, Derek’s apology is certainly not void. If I feel guilty and am groveling, then so should he. Just because you’re going to unleash a wave of cockroaches on a man’s childhood not quite home doesn’t mean he shouldn’t apologize for breaking into said childhood home when it’s no longer his. Even if the actual childhood home burned down. 

If you honestly think we’d split up while walking in a dark forest, you’re out of your mind. Who would protect your scrawny little Batman-clad ass? I wouldn’t just abandon you and leave you vulnerable to any axe murdering lunatics. Though I have to be honest and warn you that I’m not quite good at keeping arsonist lunatics at bay, obviously. Oh wow… I think I just offended myself with my own joke.

And hey, Satomi is not a lunatic, how dare you. I should know. I have experience with lunatics. She’s simply mildly eccentric. And it’s not her fault that nobody in their right mind would put down a proper internet connection in the middle of nowhere. Which also means that she can’t be a wifi-hoarder because there IS no wifi. 

Speaking of proper wifi, I might soon have it. Internet, I mean. After our discovery that Kate Argent is the arsonist we started packing to get to a safer place. I’ve included our new address with this letter. Obviously it’s not our real real address, but your letter will find its way to me from there. I’m sad to leave Beacon Hills behind, even if it’s (hopefully) temporary, but I can’t tell you how happy I am to be getting back in civilization again. I even can’t wait to set foot inside StarBucks and get a cup of warm coffee dessert. Just stroll into a library. Or go see a movie. I don’t even know what movies are playing right now! How insane is that? 

My biggest regret is that I’ll have to leave Chica behind. She opened her eyes last week and is now racing around her very own compound behind the house. She’s the most adorable thing you’ll ever lay eyes on. So soft, and so affectionate. We won’t be releasing her into the wild after all. It turns out she’s deaf and therefore extremely vulnerable to predators. So Satomi decided to keep her around. Chica doesn’t seem to mind, she loves getting treats and getting scritches. How’s Damon doing?

I have to keep this letter incredibly short and decidedly unamusing. We need to finish packing and get ready to move out. Stay safe, Stiles. 

Cheers,

Peter

P.S. I think me getting murdered dead rather messes with your plan to kill me dead if I get murdered. Just saying.

P.P.S. Got any more book recs?

P.P.P.S. You never did tell me if you liked the oatmeal cookies.

P.P.P.P.S Laura has been pestering me non-stop ever since I read that you care about me. She says that I’m ‘grinning like a lunatic’. You are responsible for my daily torture now. I hope you’re happy.


	18. Chapter 18

Dear Peter,

I’m giving you a fair warning up front: this letter is going to be a lot of complaining. I need to vent. I’m sorry. Also some revelations at the end to make it worth your time, so make sure to stick around for that! (And hit that subscribe button, leave a like and make sure to punch that notification bell while you’re at it.)

So, dear Peter, as of my last letter I moved back into my dad’s place. It was disturbingly easy to order an entire infestation worth of cockroaches. Which is just… so fucking disgusting. Luckily I managed to come up with a better plan by the time I had to go pick them up: shamelessly use my dad’s position of power for the greater good of my personal comfort and maybe safety but I’m trying very hard to not just vault into paranoid territory.

Anyway, I managed to convince my dad that I was sure one of my neighbors was involved in the break-in and that I needed to get the hell out of dodge while I worked on finding some evidence. I’m 99% sure he didn’t believe a word I was saying, but me telling him up front that I was uncomfortable and feeling unsafe made him get out the crime scene tape real quick. Yes, I got my law-abiding father to fake a crime scene. He posted a deputy outside the door and everything.

So long story short, I’m living with my dad and it’s the worst. You know how your relationship with your parents is like good but just a little weird the older you get, because parents shouldn’t be the boss of you anymore, but you can’t exactly treat them like an equal either? I felt like a lot of that weird just disappeared into thin air when I moved out, but now I’m back and it’s worse than ever. It’s like he’s purposefully going out of his way to ignore all the dietary advice I’ve ever given him. He came home with not one, not two, not five, but TEN DONUTS the other day. And then he almost sent me to my fucking room for making a cop/donut joke!

It’s like we’ve regressed 10 years and I’m back to being an angsty hormonal teenager who was constantly just a breath away from full-on hating his own father. It’s annoying! Because I love my dad! Just… guy needs to get off my case!

Which brings me to my next point: this is all your fucking fault. You and your fucked up mob family got me stuck in the middle of some sort of mob war with the Argents! Which does not help with my dad getting off my case already, because my place got broken into and I am paranoid out of my goddamn mind, Peter.

I’m so glad you told my dad about the Argents, and explained everything to him. Because I so didn’t want to have to explain it all because he would have given me a one way ticket straight to Eichen House, but I also really wanted to explain it all because this shit is insane and… well you get the point. I feel a lot better with my dad being in the loop.

Especially considering what happened after the whole staging a crime scene bit. Allison came to my dad’s place. With Scott as a very handy dandy excuse. She asked me about what the fuck happened in my apartment and I DEMAND AN OSCAR just for the fact that I didn’t say “WELL WHY DON’T YOU TELL ME YOU TWO-FACED BITCH?”. Instead I told her like… a convenient version of the truth? I wouldn’t even call it lying. I said I was too uncomfortable there after finding my place had been broken into and that I thought it had something to do with the person who’d been sending me letters and stuff and that I was creeped out but that my dad thought the person responsible might show up again because it looked like stalker stuff.

I’ve never seen anyone go from suspicious, to relieved, to somewhat embarrassed quite so quickly. There’s no way she’s not involved, Peter, she knows something. At the very least she’s a spy. A creeper spy who almost drove me to infesting my home with cockroaches.

And then this morning when I was expecting your letter, my dad had a deputy intercept the postman before he got to my building, so I got your letter and Allison might have found a decoy in my mailbox. What am I saying, she definitely found a decoy letter in my mailbox because we have the security footage from the entry hall!

These past few days have been hell and I hate whatever you dragged me into but also one day this is going to make a great fucking story.

Werewolves, crime, spy shit, sexy/snarky/smart lead….

What more could you wish for?

Right! Squirrels and cats! And guess what? We’ve got those too! Although Damon has not been happy with the (temporary) move. He’s been even more grumpy than usual.

Anyway, I need to sign off because my dad will be home soon and if there’s not something decent for dinner on the table he’ll head straight to the cookie cupboard. But first: I’m so glad you’re going back to civilization! And that you’re safe with your nieces and nephew. I know your weird mob family is the most important thing for you, so I’m glad you’re not stuck in the middle of nowhere anymore. Wifi-hoarder or not. (I still think someone who _could_ get a wifi signal up and running but _won’t_ is technically also a wifi-hoarder. But at least she has redeeming squirrel-saving qualities.)

Okay, signing off for real now (if you don’t count the P.S.)

Love,

Stiles

P.S. Don’t even joke about you getting killed, we’ve already established that you dying on me is simply NOT an option.

P.P.S. It’s. Not. An. Option!

P.P.P.S. Of course I liked the oatmeal cookies. Because of course you have to be an amazing cook on top of everything else. Because of course life is just unfair that way. No that’s not true… you’re in some sort of werewolf cult mob. You do have your own unique, special kind of negative qualities, don’t you?

P.P.P.P.S. The fact that I’m grinning like a lunatic about you grinning like a lunatic about me caring about you should tell you that I’m kidding. Not that my desperate attempt at getting you to come for a coffee with me was in any way hiding my feelings. Negative werewolf cult mob qualities or not.

P.P.P.P.P.S. I MEAN IT PETER. STAY. SAFE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (will add the pictures tomorrow)
> 
> Hope you liked it! Allison is sketchy as fuck. But look! Chica! Damon! Still keeping it cute.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Welcome back! Sorry for the lack of replies to all your lovely comments, but we've been swamped with personal stuff. We will get to them, I promise!
> 
> So don't hesitate to let us know what you thought, think and might be pondering about in the future. Or just drop us a line.

Hi Stiles,

Let me start off by saying that civilization is AWESOME. We’ve only been back for a little while, but my God it’s like I can finally breathe again. I know that it’s considered healthy to not have access to the internet for a while, to go for a digital cleanse or whatever. But holy shit, how I’ve missed to have the news only a click away. Or see other people instead of just having to stare at Derek’s ugly mug all day, every day. I’ve spent an entire day just wandering around town, popping into almost every store and shop, drinking way too much inferior coffee. And I loved it. Satomi is the best, but I’m so happy out to be away from there.

It’s not quite the same as living with your parents, but still not the most pleasant experience one could wish for. And it’s the little things that piss me off the most. Like how she always puts the toilet roll on the holder with the paper  _ under _ instead of  _ over. _ Or how she always put the dishes in the dishwasher in the wrong way. I’m just saying, those huge plates should NOT be in the front. It’s common sense! And WHO, in their right mind, puts their underwear in with the regular washing in the laundry? Who, I ask you? Or even worse, the dish cloths and dirty rags she used to scrub the toilet! With the regular clothes! At 90 degrees! Madness, I tell you.

I just hope that this Coronavirus stays the fuck away, because I am NOT looking forward to being cooped up inside again after just getting out. Fuck that. So far it doesn’t seem worrying for the people here, they’re even still having the St. Paddy’s Day celebrations here. I’m determined to participate in the Leprechaun crawl, I have my green bowler hat and everything. Yes, even a bow tie. Here’s to hoping that they’ll still serve beer, and not tiny bottles of hand sanitizer.

I feel for you, having to live with your dad again. Please tell me you at least ate some of those donuts he brought home? And that you’ve taken it upon yourself to cook healthy for the poor, misguided man? Take control, is what I’m saying. Threaten to put him in an old folks home by the time he hits 70 if he keeps acting like this. Complete role reversal! In all seriousness, I feel like I should send you more gifts, just to apologize. Again. Though, let’s be real here, it’s not ALL my fault. It’s also at least partly to blame on the Argents. I’m still buying you new gifts though, I’m fully embracing your suggestion of becoming a sugar daddy. Don’t tell your dad though, I don’t like getting shot at. Especially now that I know that he’s only law abiding when his son isn’t involved. 

Out of curiosity, what did you do with the cockroaches? I mean, you mentioned that you were about to pick them up, so I assume you paid for them already. Just so you know, nobody would hold it against you if you decided to release them in Allison’s apartment. Okay, that was a lie. I know at least three people who would hold it against you. But  **I** wouldn’t. I’d be supportive of you. Just saying. 

I’m definitely getting you an Oscar. Once I figure out where to get one that isn’t made of cheap plastic. You deserve only the best for that outstanding performance. I’ll honestly say that I did sort of hope that Allison wasn’t involved, if only because Scott is your best friend. But if your assessment of her facial expressions is anything to go on, she at the very least knows more about what happened in your apartment. And... well… obviously the security cam footage is better evidence, but so are her facial expressions! I’m so sorry, Stiles. I am curious about what you put in the decoy letter. Is a steamy love letter? An angry rant? A confession about my undying love for hair wax?

We haven’t heard anything new about Kate (yet), and we’re trying our hardest to find some conclusive evidence that points towards her. Because we might know it’s her, but the strong arm of the law needs more than ‘Look, we simply KNOW’. Which makes sense, but is all kinds of frustrating as well. I also took your dad’s advice and let Cora take over from me when it comes to communicating with him/ the police. We don’t want anyone thinking that we influenced your dad’s opinion through my connection with you, because if it ever gets to trail it might bite us in the shiny ass. Batman logo or not.

Please tell Damon that I’m sorry about his sudden uprooting and moving to a different house. And also the inevitable returning. I promise I’ll give him all the scritches at his preferred spots if I ever meet him. And any owner-approved treats.

Saying goodbye to Chica was harder than expected. I promised her I’d come visit as much as possible, but I have no idea how long that’s going to take. At least not until we’ve found Kate and know for sure who else is working with her. I also haven’t thought about what we’re going to do once we get back to Beacon Hills, because I don’t exactly have room for a deaf squirrel. But we’ll take that hurdle once we get to it, I suppose.

I’ve now started reading A Madness of Angels, and I hate you so much. It’s your fault. I was perfectly content having only one favourite book. Now I have three already and I have the feeling I’m going to get many, many more. How dare you prove me wrong (Please, prove me wrong more often)

Time to go for now, we’re going to celebrate our newfound freedom by going out. For dinner. I’m going out for dinner, Stiles. For the first time in YEARS. I’m salivating at the thought. Tah tah for now.

Love,

Peter

P.S. I won’t die. And even if I did, I would totally haunt you. And your towel. Just think of the implications there.

P.P.S. No really! Think about it! Then write about it! Make it your next novel!

P.P.P.S. My family is NOT a mob. Will you cut that out. And of course I have my own very special negative qualities. We can’t all be perfect like a certain snarky Batman-assed person I know. 

P.P.P.P.S. I’m still grinning. The torture is relentless. I hate you.

P.P.P.P.P.S. I might just not hate you.

  
  



	20. Chapter 20

Peter, my dearest, dearest, Peter,

You’re a ray of bright warm sunshine in a cold crazy world. Honestly, what the fuck is going on? The world’s gone mad. I feel like I’m living in a shitty YA dystopian novel. And there’s not even any monsters! A bat-born disease is reigning over the planet and not even one single vampire! It is somehow both terrifying and disappointing. Most of all it’s insane. It’s bat-shit insane, Peter! I saw two grandmas fighting over toilet paper the other day and my dad got called out to an incident involving a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer. 

And to top it all off, the streets are eerily empty and leaving the house is weird and apparently inadvisable so I haven’t left the house except to go grocery shopping. Which I’ve already described the sheer insanity of. I can’t do quarantine, Peter, I can’t. I’ll go nuts! My dad and I will kill each other! Only one Stilinski will be left standing and I’m going to have to be completely honest here, unless my dad actually gets sick, it’s not going to be me. He has a gun, Peter. And 25 years of pent-up frustration because his son has been a menace and has been testing his patience since day one! 

I can’t do quarantine! 

You obviously can’t either because you only just rediscovered civilization and it would be unimaginably cruel to take it away from you now. But I guess werewolf mob cults are above quarantine and pesky little bat viruses. Although vampires and werewolves historically don’t get along very well. “Historically” meaning “according to Twilight”. So maybe you should stay indoors? Maybe just because werewolves can’t get sick doesn’t mean they can’t carry diseases… like little bat-shaped fleas or something. So maybe for herd protection you should stay indoors even if you can’t get sick. 

I don’t know, supernatural medicine is clearly not my forte. Huh… do you think werewolves go to doctors or vets? 

Also Satomi sounds more and more like a nutcase. She sounds insufferable, how the fuck did you last that long? I’m so happy for you that you finally got out of there. I don’t care how good a person she is or how nice it was of her to take care of a fucking comatose person who was just left on her doorstep by her niece. Possibly in an adult-sized baby basket thing. Oh my god please tell me she left you on Satomi’s doorstep in a basket, wrapped in a fluffy blanket and you had a lightning scar on your forehead and your mother’s eyes even though yours are blue and your mother’s are so obviously brown? Please tell me that’s what happened? 

(Do NOT under any circumstance, give me that private hospital crap again. Because we both know it’s not true, it’s actually a big, fat, stupid lie. And because I am bored and in some sort of weird state of preventive self quarantine and I am so incredibly bored, Peter. Give me werewolves and vampires and witches and wizards and anything BUT stupid human diseases.)

In all seriousness though, I’m so sorry you had to leave Chica behind, that sucks so much. I hope you get to see her again soon. I bet she misses you just as much! Though, if you’re in need of a soft, furry creature to give love and pets to, please feel free to come over and dote on Damon. I don’t fucking know what happened with this cat, but we’ve been here for like a week now and not only is he suddenly totes fine with being in a place where it took him days (days, Peter, DAYS) to find his way to the litter box, he has become the most needy attention-whore of a cat I have ever seen. I swear to god it’s a full time job now to keep him happy. And you might think “oh who cares if the cat is grumpy for a little bit because you can’t dote on him as per his very particular specifications?” I care, Peter, I do! Because he will claw me to death in demand of pets. 

At least my dad loves him. I’m not even going to think in the direction of how Damon loves my dad more than he loves me, because I definitely will not like what I find at the end of that can of worms. But yeah, my dad loves him. I saw my dad share contraband with the cat. My dad doesn’t share food. Especially not food that I don’t allow him to eat. And now he’s sharing it with a cat who won’t even properly appreciate it? Ridiculous! The world is going mad! 

Anyway, about the Argent… stuff. 

  1. The cockroaches: I have to preface this by saying that I’m not proud of it, but it happened anyway. I managed to change my request from “pickup” to “delivery”. Happened to accidentally put in the wrong address (whoops, Mr. Argent, totes my honest mistake), and even more totes accidentally happened to be across the street hiding in the fucking bushes to see him squeal - in what I can only assume was pure childlike delight - upon opening the box. 
  2. The decoy letter was you getting insanely mad at me about not even thanking you for the Valentine’s day gifts and “breaking up” with me. It was very dramatic and theatrical and holier-than-thou monologue type stuff. You would have loved it. 



Okay that’s about all I’ve got to say. I’m going stir crazy and I’ve done all I can to piss off the Argents on my end. Which might not have been the smartest move, but I think we can all agree that it was worth it. 

Love, 

Stiles

P.S. Yes please come haunt me and all the towels. I want ghost towels. 

P.P.S. I hope you had a really good time going out for dinner. What did you get? Where did you go? Was it everything you hoped it would be and more? 

P.P.P.S. Fine, your family is not a mob. I believe you. 

P.P.P.P.S. I can’t believe you on your word, but I think a mob family would retaliate on their own instead of working so closely together with the police to lawfully prosecute the arsonist that killed the majority of their werewolf cult family. 

P.P.P.P.P.S. Also about that sugar daddy stuff, feel free to hit me up for details on that any time. If only so I can bake you cupcakes in return for an allowance and have my sugar-free dad be jealous cause his diet leaves no room for cupcakes. 

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I don’t let anyone see me grin like an idiot while reading your letters, so no torture for me. Though I do torture myself sometimes… I kept all your letters in a shoebox. It’s under my bed. But maybe at night when I’m trying to get to sleep I grab a flashlight and reread them under my blankets. Maybe I do it a lot. Maybe I do it more often than I’d like to admit because it’s weird to feel lonely when I’m growing so close to someone who’s both so far away yet only as far away as the shoebox under my bed. Maybe. But no one will ever be able to prove that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone's doing well in these... weird fucking times. If there's anything you need to get off your chest about this mess, feel free to leave a comment here.   
> (It might just be me being weird, but throughout this fic we've always seen the same people commenting on every single chapter, and with all that's going on, I've found myself genuinely wondering how you all are.)   
> Okay sentimental stuff aside, that's the chapter! Hope you enjoyed! <3


	21. Chapter 21

Dear Stiles,

I swear to God, if I find whatever idiot started the Jumanji game in 2020 I’ll rip his fucking throat out. I JUST came out of WEEKS of being cooped up and NOW I’m being told to stay inside AGAIN! It’s insane. Not the counter measures, those I understand. But this fucking virus itself. It makes me want to punch it in the face. Except it doesn’t have a face!

The only good news, I suppose, is that elderly people won’t go outside as much now that it’s BEEN FREAKING SNOWING. It’s SNOWING, Stiles. Why is it snowing?? It’s freaking March! It’s supposed to be spring! Warmth! Sun! WHY IS SNOWING? The world has gone mad and I’m more and more convinced I haven’t woken up at all yet and am simply having a weird nightmarish dream. And I’m sorry if I’m shouting a lot in this letter today. I’m ever so slightly angry at the universe.

I wish it were vampires. At least you can punch the teeth out of a vampire’s mouth, just mind that you don’t cut your knuckles on those pointy fangs. But a virus? I’m not too worried about myself, or the kids (Don’t tell the kids I’m still calling them kids. They’ll murder me to death), we’ll be fine. But despite my asshat, dickish, jerk demeanor, I still get pissed off at anything that kills the elderly and vulnerable. And I hate this feeling of being powerless to do anything about this invisible jackass of a virus. I WANT TO PUNCH IT IN THE FACE. Repeatedly. We’re trying to help people as much as we can, getting groceries for the old people, shoveling snow, walking pets (goddamn chihuahuas). Cora has been writing letters for the people in the old folks home who are feeling lonely. Derek has been helping the restaurants that were told to close down, delivering their meals instead. Laura’s volunteering at the local hospital. I didn’t even know until last week that she was licensed to do anything related to health care, but I’m so proud of her for jumping in when it’s needed the most.

And me? I’m yelling at the void, shaking my fist at whoever is in charge because this is BULLSHIT. Oh, and I’m also babysitting the neighbour’s toddler. Our new neighbour here is a police officer and she couldn’t find anyone to watch her kid while she did have to work more hours. So. Now I’m Uncle Peepee, because the brat can’t pronounce the T yet. The brat is called Jonathan, which he bastardized to Johnan. Johnan is a true comedic genius. He keeps pulling a dishcloth over his head, then yanking it off and shouting ‘BOOH’. This seems to be his version of playing hide and seek and he genuinely gets upset if I don’t pretend to be startled. It has been a long time since I was Uncle Peepee and I can’t say I’m fond to have the nickname back. Nor am I glad to have to be doing diapers again. But, it’s for a good cause. 

Don’t worry about me, Stiles. I’ll be fine. It takes more than a virus to get rid of me. I did some research. Werewolves have crazy healing abilities which kill the virus dead apparently, so if your theory is right, I should be just fine and not even spread the virus. I am worried about you though. Those grannies pack a mean punch. I don’t know what they keep in those purses, but if it ever turns out that they all carry bricks in there, I wouldn’t be surprised. All joking aside, I know that the quarantine sucks. I mean, I think I have at least some experience with it. But it’s a necessary evil. And please try to not get shot by your dad. He probably won’t do it, but after writing to you these past few weeks I’m getting an inkling of what you put him through all those years. I can’t say that I'd really blame the man, if you know what I mean.

Damon sounds like a terrible brat. I’d love him to bits, I’m sure. Please give him all the belly scritches he desires and tell your dad to STOP feeding junkfood to kittens. What the hell. Please express my express disappointment to your father. He should know better. Having to leave Chica behind sucks gigantic hairy monkey balls and I’m worried about her. Who will she snuggle up to now that I’m gone? Satomi doesn’t wear hoodies! All I can do is hope that this whole nonsense blows over quickly. Both the Argent nonsense and the virus nonsense.

Speaking of the Argents, can I just say that I admire your hands on solution for your surplus cockroach supply? I always knew that Chris Argent was a screamer, hah! Marvelous!

I do wish you could send me a copy of ‘my’ breakup letter to you. I’m kind of curious to see how you’d portray me. I’m sure I’d loved it. I wish I could’ve seen their faces. Yes, their. Plural. Because I’m sure Allison didn’t just read it on her own, but shared it with her cronies. Now it feels like we’re their own personal soap opera. Maybe we should send more decoy letters. Like… your teary eyed reply to me. Where you apologize but have no idea what I’m talking about and can we PLEASE discuss this like reasonable people? And then I can write back with more yelling, calling you a liar and so on and so forth. It’ll be like one of those soap novellas. We can flounce. We can shout. We can be (even more) dramatic! It’s the role of a lifetime!

No?

You’re probably right. Don’t tell anyone I said you’re right, it’s bad for my image. 

So anyway. No juicy St. Patrick’s stories for you. I am wearing my hat and green bow tie as I’m writing this. Just to get in the spirit and keep said spirits up. And to keep said spirits in the spirit, I’m drinking some very nice spirits. So, join me and the spirit to get in the spirit of things and have some spirit of your own. That’s the spirit!

Maybe I should stop drinking for today.

Stay safe, Stiles. If something happens to you I won’t have a culprit to punch for it and I can’t handle that right now.

Love, Uncle PeePee.

P.S. Ghost towels are the worst. Ectoplasm dripping everywhere, invisible gropings. Do not want. 

P.P.S. Dinner was great, but quickly overshadowed by everything closing barely two days later. Still, the steak was to die for.

P.P.P.S Not literally die for. Obviously.

P.P.P.P.S. I’m going to need more than just cupcakes if you want an allowance. We’ll discuss those terms later when I’m not drunk and/or being called Uncle PeePee on a daily basis. It’s just too weird.

P.P.P.P.P.S. Excuse me, I need to grab a cold shower because now I can’t stop thinking about you thinking about me while you’re in bed. You’re responsible for my pneumonia now. 

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I am not Harry Potter, Stiles. Nor am I Hairy Peter. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey guys. So, this freaking virus huh? Our heart goes out to all our commenters, we love you all and pray that you're safe! Drop us a line if you're scared, lonely, or just want to chat!


	22. Chapter 22

Dear uncle Peepee, 

I have no clue why you would just voluntarily give up that nickname, because you totally should have known I was never going to let you live it down. In fact, I don’t think I’ll ever call you anything else ever again. No more sugar daddy, no more Peter, no more Big Bad Wolf, just uncle Peepee. Which, again, you must have known. So the only explanation I’ve got is that you’re so incredibly bored being quarantined again (so sorry about that, but at least you’ve got internet now?) that you somehow want me to make fun of you just so you can pass the time. 

So let’s just get right into it, shall we, uncle Peepee? 

… okay nope, turns out I can’t make fun of you, you’re too pathetic and sad right now. Poor uncle Peepee being stuck inside again. And stuck in a cold place with white stuffs falling out of the sky too.... such a cruel world you live in. You have every right to shout in these letters, just let it all out. Growl if you want. 

Oh god, I just had an image of you writing out “grrrr” in a letter and that’s almost as adorable as uncle Peepee baby sitting. You talk a big talk, uncle peepee, but I don’t think you could actually walk the walk when it comes to punching the teeth out of a vampire’s mouth. I think maybe quarantine and babies make you a big ol’ softy. All bark and no bite. 

Anyway, stop trying to punch viruses in the face, it won’t work, it won’t help, in fact if you could punch a virus in the face it’s probably the worst thing you could do to a virus. There’s social distancing measures, uncle Peepee, don’t take those lightly. They’re serious business! Thank god we were already just penpals, otherwise I’d like… miss being physically close to you. Yeah… thank god people can’t miss something they’ve never had. It’s not like I miss hugs from you. That’d be absolutely ridiculous, I’ve never had a hug from you before, why would I miss it? That makes zero sense. I totally wouldn’t miss your hugs. Nope. That is not what is going on right now. Quarantine is definitely not making me slightly delirious, no sir! And it is definitely not making me want hugs from a person I’ve never even met ever before. 

OKAY! MOVING ON! 

WE ARE MOOOVING ON!

What the fucking shit is your family? Why are they all like… disgustingly good people? No entire family is this selfless and has that little sense of self preservation. You can’t just volunteer in hospitals and volunteer with food delivery and volunteer to babysit the germ factory that is a toddler in these batshit crazy times and not expect to get infected. So, yeah, sure, props to all the volunteers out there, I applaud you. But everyone in a family? 

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you guys knew something we don’t. You know, about a certain immunity or something.

But I get it, I get it. Mobs are big on their secrets. I imagine werewolf mob cults even more so. So I won’t tell the whole world about your little secret. If only you could put lycanthropy in a vaccine, eh? And have it… not turn everyone into a werewolf. I doubt that’d be good. Full moons would get loud. 

Anyway, lycanthropy or not, it’s still really cool of you guys to help where you can. I love the idea of sending letters to some old folks homes. And of course hospitals need all the help they can get right now. I can’t even imagine being a doctor right now. Honestly, I know my dad has always been kind of vaguely disappointed about me not going to med school but I have never been so relieved to have gone into the arts. I’m even used to working from home! Literally nothing changes for me! It’s the best! It’s like I was made for quarantine. 

Except for the fact that I’m still living with my dad of course, and as we all know, that’s still a nightmare. Damon seems to have abandoned me completely. He’s sleeping in my father’s bedroom now. Which is just straight up bullshit. I don’t deserve this kind of treatment. UNCLE PEEPEE I NEED A HUG AND MY DAD STOLE MY CAT AND IF I CAN'T EVEN HAVE KITTY HUGS THEN WHAT IS THERE TO LIVE FOR? 

Oh wait, never mind, I know what there is to live for. What we all have to live for. The image of handsome uncle Peepee playing peekaboo with the neighbour’s kid. Honestly, Chica is adorable, and I was like 100% sure she would be the most bestest, most adorablest thing to ever happen in your letters, but you trumped it so hard. Ugh… I can’t even use that word anymore. It used to be such a normal word, uncle Peepee, why did our shitty excuse for a president ruin it? Anyway, uncle Peepee playing peekaboo is 100% the most bestest, most adorablest thing ever. Quarantine has already been worth it to me just because of this. 

Anyway yeah, guess I’ve reached the point of your letter where you did “research” about werewolves. I’m really curious about which scientifically sound sources you’ve found to reach the conclusion that werewolves cannot transmit viruses. Because honestly, I don’t think that makes any kind of sense. 

Viruses have nothing to do with healing abilities. Or are you trying to tell me a werewolf’s healing ability or super powered immune system is attacking a virus when it’s just sitting on their skin and not harming the werewolf? Because then you’re basically talking about a sentient healing ability or a sentient super powered immune system and that sounds like a big fat steaming pile of bullshit to me, uncle Peepee. 

I think you better go wash your hands real well before you touch that toddler again you nasty ol’ dog dragging viruses all over the house. How dare you. 

About me though, I’ll be fine, I can always just flee to my room and watch porn with the volume turned all the way up to get my dad to run for the hills instead of shooting me. Best defense mechanism against too up-in-your-business parents: play some loud porn to get them off your back. 

Okay I need to go, I think I’m hearing my dad open another candy wrapper. He already had his daily little piece of indulgence so this is definitely contraband. 

I’m going to go catch him red handed this time! 

So, gotta go, uncle Peepee! 

Talk to you soon. 

Love, 

Stiles

P.S. WASH YOUR FILTHY LITTLE HANDS!

P.P.S. I MEAN IT, WASH THEM!

P.P.P.S. I wish I could give you a copy of the break up letter, but obviously I send it so Allison would find it, I’ll never get my hands on it again and my memory really isn’t that good. And I’d love to send more decoy letters, but it wouldn’t make sense for them to arrive at the flat anymore since I am still in quarantine at my dad’s house. Away from any Argents and away from their cockroaches. 

P.P.P.P.S. Werewolf mobster cult members can’t get pneumonia, uncle Peepee, stop lying! 

P.P.P.P.P.S. But I’m very happy to know that you think about me in the shower. 

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I really got to fucking go, but stay safe! Tell your nieces and nephew they’re amazing for volunteering! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I don't know about you guys, but I'm about ready to kill my family at this point in quarantine... Thank god we've got fic to keep us sane!


	23. Chapter 23

Dear Stiles,

You, sir, are a very hard to please individual. I can only hope this particular characteristic of yours does not also apply to the bedroom. Although, I’ve always loved a challenge. I’m good at challenges. For weeks now you’ve been badgering me about being a werewolf or some mobster. I give in to your wild ideas and tell you that you’re absolutely right and that I am in fact a werewolf TWICE now, and yet you’re still not happy and now want my super secret sources. I am disappointed in you, Stiles. 

And yes, I am also incredibly bored. And going out of my mind every time I think about not being able to go where I want. AGAIN. But, I also figured that must be the case for you, my little chatterbox. Because if I’ve learned anything about you these past few letters, it’s that you NEED human contact. So I gave you ‘Uncle Peepee’ as a courtesy. Not… the actual physical Uncle Peepee, because not only would that be a slightly disturbing thing to send over the mail, it’s also not the nickname I’ve given. I thought that it might give you five minutes of amusement to make fun of me and my nickname. Tell me, did it work? 

Don’t you dare mock me, mister ‘white stuffs falling out of the sky’. It’s fucking March. There’s a freaking virus going around, killing and being a general nuisance. I at LEAST want to be able to sit on my balcony, soaking in the warm rays of the sun. I do NOT want to soak in freezing cold wet snowflakes. Do not want. Nope. Grrr.

And sure. I’m adorable. I’m way too nice and soft and floofy to punch any supernatural beings in the pointy mouth hole. I’m a great barker though. I can keep the neighbours up all night with my noises. But I do bite, actually. Always with consent, and I haven’t had any complaints from my victims. Well. One complaint. But that one wasn’t my fault, I swear that bruise was already there. And he did like it. He just didn’t like the bruise.

It’s okay to admit that you miss me, even if we never physically met. It only reaffirms my complete conviction that you’re an adorable nerd. I would totally give you hugs if I could. Big, manly, scruffy hugs. No biting. I promise. Well… unless you like bruises.  
And I will totally punch a virus in the face if I will ever be able to do so. Maybe if I can get Antman’s suit or something. Shrink down to the virus’ size and punch it in its probably ugly face. Do viruses even have faces? I’ll just have to punch every bit of it, just to be on the safe side. And, just to appease you, I’ll punch it from 2 meters distance. I don’t know how, but let’s face it, if I manage to shrink down to its size, I can also manage to punch it from 2 meter away.

We are not disgustingly good people. Trust me on this one. I mean. I am disgustingly good. Derek possibly as well. Laura absolutely is disgustingly good. But at least a small part of Cora’s motivation is bragging rights. And obviously a werewolf’s healing power also mitigates the virus’ survivability and therefore the risk of infecting others. If the virus dies on contact with our skin, it logically can’t spread to others. Fanfiction told me so. Yes. I’m reading fanfiction. And it’s completely and utterly YOUR fault. You and your stupid non-favourite books. Making me read books that I suddenly LOVE and now need MORE of. Ugh. It’s the rudest thing that’s ever happened to me. Well, that, and having someone set fire to my house. You can’t HONESTLY expect me to give you SCIENTIFIC sources, right? There aren’t even scientifically sound sources that prove vampires, pixies or werewolves are real. Weirdo.

Obviously I wash my hands a lot after being in contact with the brat. Not just out of concern for the Corona virus, but also from a general hygiene perspective. Toddlers are gross. Cute, but gross. They have constant runny noses, which they’ll wipe with their fingers and then they’ll try to stick those slimy fingers in your mouth. In your MOUTH, Stiles. I’ve debated sticking the kid permanently in a giant hamster ball, but I’m pretty sure his mom would not approve of that. And since he CAN talk, he’d probably tattle on me.

One bright side of this whole thing is that Kate is probably cooped up inside as well. Or maybe she’s sick and unable to run away for quite a bit longer, allowing us to gain on her.

I’m sorry to hear about Damon’s betrayal to you. Have you tried buying his love back with belly scritches, ham and telling him what a good boy he is? I mean. It would work with me.  
And did you check with him if it isn’t your particular brand of porn that’s chasing him towards your dad instead? What kind of porn is it? Is it at least tasteful? 

Anyway, I need to go. Derek has returned from his delivery route and he’s grumpy about something. Probably ran across a few hoarders on his route.

Stay safe, chatterbox.

Love, Peter

P.S. My hands are not little. 

P.P.S. I mean it. I have strong, large, slender hands. I could be a piano player.

P.P.P.S. Or a masseur.

P.P.P.P.S. I’m a damn good masseur.

P.P.P.P.P.S. Look, either I’m immune to Corona AND pneumonia or I’m immune to neither. You’ll have to make up your mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! We're now at two weeks of me and my husband both working from home and I can tell you that we haven't even tried to kill each other! Yet! Stay safe out there, everyone! We love you all.


	24. Chapter 24

Dear uncle Peepee, 

First things first: WASH YOUR FREAKING HANDS. And if I’m not being clear, get right underneath your filthy claws too. I don’t care if you’re immune (that’s a lie, I care, good for you, I’m very pleased that you can’t get sick, lovely to know you won’t die any time soon) there is absolutely NO WAY that werewolves don’t carry viruses. 

A counter top can carry a virus, Peter! A virus gets on you, you’re carrying it even if you don’t get sick from it, so your attitude is putting puny humans around you at risk. Including that toddler. Do you want to kill that toddler, uncle Peepee? Do you? 

This isn’t about you being immune to pneumonia and not immune to covid-19. You’re a fucking magical being, I’d be extremely disappointed in the universe if you weren’t immune to all of it. But can you just say it with me? (I’m putting a lot of trust in you here, since I can’t hear or see you, but you’re going to say it with me. You are, right? You wouldn’t let me make a fool of myself, right? Right) Say it with me: Werewolves carry dirty shit on their grubby paws, werewolves carry viruses. Am I clear? So don’t be gross.

I have a cure to some of your boredom: you could give me some actual sources on trustworthy werewolf lore and supernatural lore. Because I’ve found everything from out of control monsters to skinwalkers to native american legends to voldemort in pink bondage gear riding a unicorn… Okay maybe that last one wasn’t technically werewolf related, but there was a unicorn and that’s supernatural, so that totally counts. Peter I need to know what’s real and not. Demons? And then are angels real too? That’d be weirder than demons being real. And vampires? And witches? And wizards? Can I go to Hogwarts? Do you turn into a puppy on the full moon? Do you have a tail? What about knotting? Inquiring minds need to know, Peter. Are you Uncle Peepee or Daddy Battering Ram? 

Knowing the answer to all of these questions is essential to my well-being in these horribly unsure times. I’m bored, Peter, and a bored Stiles is dangerous. A bored Stiles fantasizes, a bored Stiles lets his mind wander, a bored Stiles might need visual aids or the not-knowing for sure will drive him insane. Quarantine isn’t good for a bored Stiles, Peter! You’ve already started calling me “chatterbox” (which I take FULL OFFENSE to by the way. “Chatterbox” honestly. So unoriginal and so rude. I don’t chatter. I spin wonderful tales in an excited manner.) imagine what another week of this will do, let alone another month if I don’t get some much needed… help with my… problem. 

Fuck it, ellipses don’t do this justice. 

I HAVE A MIGHTY NEED PETER AND YOUR TEASING ME IS NOT HELPING. HOW DID YOU GET ME SO DESPERATE FOR YOUR DICK I HAVEN’T EVEN SEEN YOUR DICK CAN I SEE YOUR DICK??? PLEASE? PRETTY PLEASE? 

Ahem. I’m totally fine. Nothing to see here. Slip of the pen. 

Cure to boredom: netflix. Or you could go out and build a snowman (is it still snowing there?) I just really want to picture you outside growling at snow. I can’t believe you growled in your letter, you’re the best. You’re too good to me, you gave me a grrr. Words cannot describe how much I adore you right now. 

You’re definitely too adorable to punch any supernatural beings in the pointy mouth hole, you’re also too adorable to punch viruses. Stay at home, hug something instead. No punching for the big floofball that is uncle Peepee. Dangit, now I can’t stop thinking about those life size pillows that people get of celebs and cartoons and whatever. I might just order you one with my face on it to stop you from punching a werewolf in the face. Because I’m sure vampires can carry viruses too and if you punch them then it’ll be on you and we’ll all be a disgusting virus-covered mess. Body pillows will save the world! 

Okay I may have just taken a 2 hour break from letter writing to take the necessary pictures and order a custom body pillow for you. Saving the world and the economy! 

Now it’s time for some very honest confessions: yes, I do really really really need human contact. My dad hasn’t even grabbed my shoulder or ruffled my hair once since I moved back in. He keeps pulling back because of “social distancing” and I didn’t know skin hungry was a feeling that existed outside of fan fiction, Peter, why is it a thing? I can’t find out it’s a thing during a world wide lockdown quarantine situation, Peter, that is so fucking cruel! I can’t even hire someone to help me with it! 

And a cat is not the same thing. Even though Damon helps. He’s the best baby. He lets me hug him all the time, sometimes he even lets me play with his toe beans. Oh my god. Toe beans. 

Peter! Do you have toe beans???? This is so much more important than the knotting thing, holy shit PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TELL ME YOU HAVE TOE BEANS AND I WILL NEED A PICTURE! 

Not that I’m into feet, I’m not, I’m also not into dogs. This is devolving so quickly… BUT TOE BEANS ARE SO CUTE AND ADORABLE PETER WILL YOU SEND ME A PICTURE OF YOUR TOE BEANS?

IN EXCHANGE FOR THE BODY PILLOW! I TOTALLY DESERVE SOME TOE BEAN PICS! 

PLEASE PETER! 

Please!!!!!

I’ll stop begging and sign off, but I really hope you send me some toe beans. 

Love, 

NOT a chatterbox,

P.S. PLEASE SEND ME TOE BEANS

P.P.S. I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO SAY IN THE P.S THIS TIME 

P.P.P.S. JUST TOE BEANS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

P.P.P.P.S Okay I just reread your P.S. and I do have something to say about the masseur thing. And the piano player thing. Please do both for me. I’m expecting a concerto with a happy ending. The happy ending being the massage. Though that can also have a happy ending. Please and thank you. 

P.P.P.P.P.S. I’m stuck between hoping someone catches you reading my absolutely humiliating thirsting after your dick and how that’d make you blush and hoping no one ever sees that. Not even you. Maybe this’ll get lost in the mail. 

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Although I hope it doesn’t. I want toe beans. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... this happened. 
> 
> Okay I haven't had the time to react to comments in a while now, but I'm still reading all of them! I hope you're all still well and coping with quarantine and horrible news and I hope you're all homebodies like me who live most of their life online anyway, so the change isn't too massive/jarring. 
> 
> Stay safe!   
> Wash your hands, werewolf or not <3


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooo sorry that I'm a day late /o\ I could've sworn it was TUESDAY yesterday!  
> Anyway, social distancing is still going strong here and has just been prolonged to the 28th of April. We love you guys and hope you're all still healthy and safe! Hang in there, we'll make it though!
> 
> Pic courtesy: my dog.

Dear Blatherer,

I know that by now you’re out of your mind with worry. Thinking that I’ve either succumbed to this goddamn unholy fucking virus, or to sparkly vampires that I couldn’t punch in the pointy teeth because I’m too much of a softy. Maybe you think that I wanted to prove to you that I can, in fact, punch a virus in the face and lost that particular battle. Which is technically the same as succumbing to the unholy fucking virus, but that’s besides the point. I can only imagine how grief stricken and sad you are now. But I’m here to tell you to stop worrying, I’m fine. And I’m also a day late with my letter, but that has a reason. 

I’m sure you’re aware that yesterday was April 1st. And I despise April 1st because nobody takes anything I say seriously, something I definitely want to avoid when responding to your extremely thirsty ‘I want your dick, Peter’ letter from last time. There will be no ‘Wait, are you serious or was it just a joke? I NEED TO KNOW PETER!’ shouting this time. Well, maybe there will be. But it won’t be because of the evil that is April 1st. So, you’re getting this letter a day later. You’re welcome.

I have to say that there’s something about this whole ‘denying you the dick because of national security reasons’ thing that is rather exciting, though it would be infinitely better if it was voluntarily and I could actually give you said dick if you’d been a good boy. Nothing wrong with a bit of playful denial, to make the reward that much sweeter. Or, saltier. That being said, if you’re a good boy, I might send you a dickpic. It all depends on you and how snarky you decide to be. See now how terrible this letter would’ve been if you’d received it yesterday? Once again, you’re welcome.

To be honest, I’ve never been a fan of dickpics. Anything but dicks are much better subjects, really. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy the male member, but it’s not exactly the prettiest or most exciting body part to take a picture of. A pretty ass, biceps, shoulders… those are things that I love seeing in pictures. I’m not implying that you should send me a picture of those things, I’m just subtly letting you know my preferences. Because that’s what I do. Be subtle. Just call me Peter ‘Subtle’ Hale.

Excuse you, I do not have grubby paws and I do wash my hands. So yes, you’re being extremely silly saying that kind of claptrap all by yourself. I’ve always washed my hands and it rather weirds me out that apparently people haven’t been washing their hands until now? I’m never shaking hands with anyone ever again. And don’t forget that I’m around a toddler almost every day. Toddlers are disgusting. They’re cute and funny sometimes, but mostly they’re loud and disgusting. Jonathan eats his own snot and then giggles when I tell him to stop it. But there’s no amount of handwashing that helps against a two year old trying to shove his booger encrusted fingers in your mouth when you’re carrying him towards the sink. Children are toddling biohazards. And the diapers, dear lord. I’d forgotten (or possibly repressed) that from when the last time I handled kids, but toddler diaper are the worst. The absolute worst. I’ll take baby diapers over toddler diapers any day of the week. Solid foods, that’s the only hint I’m going to give as to why that is and I’ll let your imagination do the rest.

To answer the rest of you questions (without a proper source because I’m not a nerd like you):  
Yes, demons exist and so do angels. Though not in the form that popular media has led you to believe. No pretty white wings or fashionable horns. They’re both way more cunning than that. Good Omens got pretty close, right down to the ‘Angels are secretly assholes’. 

I already told you vampires are real, though there’s a severe lack of glitter. Witches obviously are real because there are more covens than knitting groups in the average town. They mostly stick to the professions they’re best at: midwifes, doctors, vets, lawyers. You know, the basics. Witches do sparkle sometimes! Eye shadow, nail polish, body lotion. It’s amazing what glitters these days. Maybe they can lend something to the vampires, make the myth real again. I like witches and have a healthy amount of respect for what they do, the world would be a whole lot worse without witches.

I’ve never met a real wizard. If they exist, they’re probably too busy growing beards and polishing knobs. 

You’re American, you can’t go to Hogwarts.

I do not turn into a puppy during full moon, I’m a grown man. What the hell, Stiles.

Werewolves do have tails when fully turned, but we do not knit. Knitting is rather hard to do when you have huge grubby claws.

And of course I am Daddy Battering Ram. Rawr. 

I can’t wait until I get that body pillow with your face on it. Please tell me there will be more than just your face on that pillow. See also: my list of preferences from earlier. No pressure, just saying.

It has stopped snowing here, thank God. Now I’m eagerly awaiting the actual spring. Sitting on my balcony with my face in the sun, spring. Without freezing ears off, spring. How’s the weather been in Beacon Hills? I can’t believe I actually miss that crummy town. Or maybe I’m missing you, despite never having met you. Thought that sounds too sentimental for me. I probably just miss the town.

Have you given Damon the belly scritches? Did you tickle his toe beans? You cat deserves all the love, Stiles. I can’t imagine how lonely he’ll feel once things go back to normal, poor boy. 

So, what have you been up to these days? Are you still healthy? Please tell me you’re still healthy. Is your dad still alive? Are you video calling your besties? What are you currently reading? Tell me all about it!

Love, Peter

P.S. I don’t blush.

P.P.S. Ever.

P.P.P.S. I’m still an amazing masseur. With AND without happy endings.

P.P.P.PS. Enclosed you’ll find toe beans. I can neither confirm nor deny they’re mine. I'm sorry they're not as soft or cuddly as Damon's. But they're old beans and still precious.

P.P.P.P.P.S. Dickpic only to follow if you’re a good boy. It’s all up to you now.


	26. Chapter 26

Dear Mr. Toe Beans, 

I noticed you included toe beans in your last letter. I have put the toe beans picture in a frame on which I drew more toe beans. I’m extremely jealous you have toe beans. Four sets of toe beans. I wish I had toe beans. Your toe beans are toetally adorable. I want to squish your toe beans. Gently. 

TOE BEANS.

YOU HAVE TOE BEANS.

I WILL NEVER GET OVER THE TOE BEANS.

I WANT TO DRAW LITTLE SMILEY FACES ON EVERY SINGLE TOE BEAN. 

The toe beans are so precious, Peter! Oh my god, toe beans! I’ve never particularly liked the “get you a man who *insert stereotypical white cis het manly man ideal trait*” but dear lord, get you a man with toe beans! We stan the toe beans! 

I should probably talk about something other than toe beans in this letter, but I really don’t want to. Why can’t I just write a 2000 word essay on how cute toe beans are? Followed by a 5000 word addendum on how that does not mean I have a foot fetish. Nothing against foot fetishes! Or any kind of fetish for that matter. But Tarantino has a foot fetish and his movies are a disgrace and I just don’t want you to think that I have anything in common with the guy. I have taste. A taste for toe beans.

Okay I’ll stop for real now. 

Let’s address the thirsting! My thirsting. I’m still thirsting. I’m also being incredibly repetitive in this letter but I’m going to blame that on having repetition ingrained in me right now because life has become a meaningless, endless repetition of wake up, stay home, go to bed, wake up, stay home, go to bed, wake up…. Yes I’m still going insane, yes I’m still thirsting after your hot dad bod. 

Which is why I very much appreciate not having that letter arrive on April Fool’s. Although not getting a letter on our regular schedule was also not fun. By the end of the day I’d managed to convince myself you had cut off all communication because my thirsting was too thirsty and you weren’t willing to quench it. 

You know what? Quench is a disgusting word. Why is it like that? Who made it sound like that? And look like that? Q-U-E-N-C-H.

Sounds like a sound from a bad porn. Moist.

Ew.

Why are words?

Okay I need to tell you something. I’m not sure it’s the right time for this right now in this very letter right here, but I need to get it off my chest. 

I am quite honestly, quite frankly, quite truthfully, drunk off my tits, to tell you the truth, if I’m being honest, to be completely real with you. 

Drunk of my tits I am. Well… I say tits, I don’t have tits, I’ve got nips but no tits and isn’t that a crying shame? Titties are pretties. Nips are…. impossible to rhyme with though if you ever want to take a couple sips from my nips, feel free! Body shots!

So yes, I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m a little bit unsober right now. Which does NOT (ha, knot) mean I’m NOT (ha, knot)... I forgot what I was about to say. Although this raises another good subject! 

“Knitting” fuck off, Mr Toe Beans Uncle Peepee Peter Subtle Hale. I know you know what I mean. And I am offended you dare keep me in the dark on this! If you ever want to put your peepee anywhere near my hooha, I will very much need to not be in the dark on this anymore, Peter! Do you have a knot or not? 

A GOOD BOY! That’s what I was about to say! Just because I’m a little bit unsober right now doesn’t mean I’m not being a good boy, I’m the goodest of toe bean-less boys. You better remember that. And treat me accordingly. By giving me treats. Lots of treats. Stuff my face. With a treat. The treat being a sausage. But not an actual sausage.

Ha! Call me Subtles Subtlinski! 

Very happy to know you wash your hands. Didn’t necessarily need to read about disgusting toddler habits, but ah well I’m making you deal with drunk Stiles, which shouldn’t even be possible with social distancing measures but social distancing can’t stand in the way of my stupid decisions, if I want to drunk text my hot toe beaned werewolf, I can totally do so! But I don’t have his phone number, so I’ll drunk write him a letter. Which I just realized is probably also going to arrive late, because I am in no state to drive right now. They just passed a law that driving is prohibited in California. In no state to drive! Ha! 

I keep losing my train of thought. It just flies right of the tracks and lands in “Peter is a real person with real toe beans and I think he kinda maybe likes me a little which is super sweet and sexy and awesome and adorable” territory. Psh. Scott told me I was a sentimental emotional drunk, he was wrong, I’m a hilarious drunk! 

Right! Letter will be late, I can’t drive it to the post office now, will have to wait till tomorrow.

I’m kind of bummed that vampires don’t sparkle. But I’m way more bummed about you thinking I don’t have a shot at getting into Hogwarts. I totally do. You underestimate how good it is for a kid’s development to have a cop parent. I’m insanely good at sneaking and super awesome with locks and picking them. Not like, picking them in a store. I don’t know why I explained that you knew. 

Peter I think I may be a little drunk. 

Ugh I was going to just put this letter in the envelope already but I guess you probably asked questions that I still have to answer OH MY GOD LETTERS ARE ANNOYING. 

(That’s a lie, I love letters, don’t stop writing letters, I love you. Not like love love in love love you, just like, love you, like a bro love, a homie love, like a not ready to like marry you or some shit, but if you want to like try a date or two or some romping in the sheets I’d totes be down love you.)

QUESTIONS

And answers! 

Weather’s been okay, slightly colder than usual, but it’s fine. Weather guy said there’d be more sun this week with a chance of werewolves lying about missing or not missing me. You totes miss me. We’re inventing the “missing someone you’ve never met” thing, we need a word for it. But it’s a very important decision. So I won’t make it while under the influence. Of alcohol. I’m not on like… shrooms or anything. S-H-R-O-O-M-S. That’s a funny word. Way better than quench or moist. 

Make a word for it, Peter! 

Anyway, I have given Damon all the belly scritches, he hates having his toe beans tickled but I’ve done it every single day anyway because toe beans are the best. He probably won’t feel too lonely since I work from home a lot anyway. He’ll still feel horribly neglected when this is all over though, because he’s being spoilt to bits. My dad is the worst. 

I have been up to nothing. No that’s a lie, I’ve been playing unholy amounts of Animal Crossing. My dad doesn’t understand it. And Damon for some unknown reason runs away every time he sees Blathers. It could be a coincidence, but I’m bored and I need a conspiracy theory right now. 

I’m still healthy. Well, physically at least. Mentally is another mess entirely. My dad is still alive. Still probably wants to kill me more and more every single day. Which is why we both dove into the alcohol today. No that’s not true, we got so bored we played a drinking game. My old man drunk me under the table, Peter, I am not pleased. Unsober and unpleased. 

My besties and I have started an almost daily D&D campaign, so that’s happening. You should play. Ugh no, you’d be terrible. You’d totally diss the factuality (that’s a word, right?) of every monster and stuff. Also you’d only be good as a DM too controlling. Honestly “be a good boy stiles and maybe you can see my dick” ugh. Disgusting. You know me disgustingly well. How does this work for me? I’m disappointed in me. 

I’m not really reading anything. Animal Crossing just came out, I don’t have time for books and shit. I barely had time for this letter. You’re lucky I made time for your letter. 

Oh who am I kidding? I’m letter I made time for this lucky. Toe beans!

Okay love and shit

Stiles. 

Moving on to the P.S. now but I’m not capable of counting P’s right now. So

P.S. I bet I could totally make you blush. A lot. I can be very embarrassing. 

Also I demand physical evidence of you being an amazing masseur. 

I’m still so fucking stoked about the toe beans. TOE BEANS! 

And I’m being a very good boy and I totally deserve all the dickpics, even though I agree and ass pics and abs pics and anything other than dick pics are better. It’s just that I got curious about your dick and need to satisfy that curiosity. It’s for science, Peter! 

BYEEEEE!!!! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should put something nice in here to lift people's spirits.
> 
> How about...
> 
> TOE BEANS


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. Things are getting quite steamy. Fair warning: there might be smut in the future.

My dearest Prattler,

Well. That was some letter. 

After all the teasing I did about you being worried because my letter was one day late, I’m almost ashamed to admit that I was quite perturbed when YOUR letter was late as well. I was this close to call your dad and ask him if he’d heard from you. I feared the sparkly vampires had gotten to you. Or that you swooned after envisioning the dick pic you worked so hard for to deserve, and hit your head on the table. Or something like that. 

But, thankfully, the next day I got your letter. And, holy shit, what a letter. I mean, I thought you were thirsty in your previous letter, but this one trumped that. Wait no. Let’s not use that terrible man’s name in relation with your glorious letters. Let me try again: “You absolutely, positively, completely knocked that previous letter out of the goddamn ballpark when it comes to thirsting”. Speaking of thirst, I hope the hangover wasn’t too horrible? 

Please do not draw smileys on the toe beans. Those toe beans are extremely sensitive and ticklish and THEY DO NOT DESERVE TICKLE TORTURE. What even does ‘stan’ mean? I’m at a complete loss and I’ve never felt as old as I do now, thanks. Any references to ‘dad bods’ are not making it any better. Though I admit that I have a body to die for. I am with you on the dislike for Tarantino movies. They’re not quite my cup of tea, foot fetish or not. I mean, I TRIED to watch Pulp Fiction, but fell asleep after half an hour. Can’t account for taste, I suppose. That being said, if you DO have a foot fetish but just don’t want to admit to sharing anything with Tarantino, then rest assured that I’m okay with it and won’t judge you. 

There is NOTHING wrong with the word ‘moist’. Or ‘quench’. In fact, there are quite a few things that I can do to make certain body parts moist and subsequently quench that thirst of yours. But let’s first address the rest of your delightful drunken rambling.   
Might I suggest ‘lips’ as a word to rhyme with nips?

“I’ve got nips but no tits and isn’t that a crying shame? Titties are pretties. Nips are second only to gorgeous, full, pouty lips.”  
There, Problem solved. I’ll take those body shots as my just reward when this goddamn virus is gone and Kate is in jail. 

I will definitely not shine a light on whether or not I have a knot. I’d like to keep some aspects of my mysterious being just that, a mystery. What if you grow bored of me when you think you know everything there is to know? We can’t have that. We’ll have to keep something for you to explore, so to say. So, for now, let’s pretend that you are asking me about knitting. And that you’re offering to knit me a nice, warm, snug sweater. One that’ll wrap around me and keep me all toasty in the winter. One that will make me never want to take it off. For at least several hours. Knitting.

Excuse you, I was and am a great Dungeon Master. I’ll admit there are some logical flaws in the lore, but that’s fine because the lore is absolutely incredible and perfect in every other way. Being in control of everything that happens? Absolutely, yes. Well, everything except the roll of the dice, of course. But even that can be fun when used in a creative way. I’m glad to learn that apparently it’s doing ‘it’ for you. It suddenly opens up so many… possibilities. No need to be disappointed in yourself. But maybe it is best if I didn’t join you in your daily D&D adventures. Let’s keep our own private adventures at some later date.

Also, mister Subtles Subtlinski, you are in for a treat because I have found a great non-sausage sausage for you. It’s called a ‘knakwortel’. Google it. I think you’ll be pleased and find it’s exactly what you asked for. You can stuff your face with that to your heart’s delight AND it’s probably even healthy enough to feed your dad. …. Okay, I probably shouldn’t dick tease you and mention your dad in the same sentence. I’m sorry about that.

Scott should fuck off, because you are an absolute hilarious drunk. But I’m afraid you’re also a very very very wrong drunk. Because I don’t like you just a little bit. I have to confess that I’m liking you a lot, Subtles and that’s EXACTLY why you don’t have my phone number (yet). I’m not sure if we should torture your father while he’s locked in the same house as you with any potential late night phone sex. Because, let’s face it, that’s going to happen. I’m also not sure you’re not going to call me awake every night at the most impossible hours. Daddy Peter needs his beauty sleep. And there are more fun and better ways to wake me up without making me want to murder you dead.

You really really don’t have a shot to get into Hogwarts. Not unless you’ve been keeping your Britishness a secret from me. Isn’t there an American version of Hogwarts? You should look into those. It has absolutely nothing to do with me not wanting to see you move to the other side of the goddamn ocean. England is still in Europe, Stiles. EUROPE. Despite England’s best efforts to pretend it’s not the case, it still hasn’t actually physically moved away. 

I’ve been going completely out of my mind with boredom. Jonathan’s mom is home sick. She says she has a cold, but her whole family is now stuck at home. I’ve been dropping off groceries at her frontdoor, but with that kid gone I suddenly have a whole day ahead of me of doing NOTHING AT ALL. I’m going crazy, Stiles. Absolutely completely apeshit bonkers. Send help before I have nothing to talk about anymore. 

It turns out the Welsh have a beautiful word for missing someone you’ve never met. And I think we should absolutely use it. Hiraeth. A sort of melancholic homesickness.

Apparently you can also use it to describe a time or place you can’t return to, or one that never was. Hiraeth can also be the yearning for something that can’t be experienced, attained or completed. The piece of music you won’t hear, or the garden you’ll never visit. Perhaps a person you won't ever talk to, or a someone who never existed at all. Very fitting, don’t you think?

Anyway, I have to wrap this letter up because I need to take another goddamn cold shower before I turn this letter into a bad porn script. Damn you, Stiles.

Love, Peter

P.S. Thank your dad from me for drinking you under the table. This whole letter was pure love.

P.P.S. What am I getting in return for massaging you? I mean, you’ll have to do something for it, Stiles. Tit for tat.

P.P.P.S. 


	28. Chapter 28

My dear Peter,

I thank you profusely for not shaming me to death after my last letter. I don’t know how you’d shame me to death while we can’t even be in the same room together, but I’m sure you’d find a way. 

I’d apologize for making you worry about the late letter, but I’m not actually sorry and you totally deserved that. You made me wait too. In fact, you’re making me wait on a lot, mister. And you’re being such a goddamn fucking tease about it too.

I know I’m skipping ahead, but fuck it. What on earth is that shitty picture supposed to be? You’re sending me dick pics of David? And not even decent ones? You had to go all japanese porn on them and censor the interesting parts? You, Peter Hale, are a coward. If you’re going to send me some good ol’ renaissance cock, at least commit to it. 

Okay, back to the regular, intended order of your letter and of my reply. But please remember how Not Pleased I am. Thanks. 

I will find a way to draw smileys on your toe beans. Don’t test me. And I do think you deserve some tickle torture. I think you need some tickle torture even since laughing is supposed to keep you young and alive, and you’re really out there not knowing what “stan” means… you’re ancient. How are you so old? How can you not know? “Stan” comes from that Eminem song, a classic bop. Just means I’m a really big fan of your toe beans. I don’t need to be drunk to admit that. Your toe beans might just be my favorite thing about you. Although this can all be changed with a decent dick pic…. just saying. 

(In all seriousness, I’m mostly joking about the dick pics, though I’d of course love to see your dick, I don’t want you to feel like… pressured or anything.)

And no, even though I’m head over heels in love with your toe beans and even though I would happily dedicate my time and effort to making an instagram and twitter just for your toe beans, I don’t have a foot fetish. At all. Feet are stinky and weird. I’d really like to avoid thinking about them as much as possible during sexy times. 

And ex-fucking-scuse you. There is EVERYTHING wrong with the words “moist” and “quench”. I’m judging you so hard for implying they’re normal words! I see you trying to distract me from your opinion (which is wrong by the way) on these hell words by using them in dirty talk, and it’s not working! 

Oh god are we really back to my drunken rambling already? So soon? Are you sure? And fine, lips works…. I guess… I’d tell you not to judge my rhyming skills on the rhymes I make when drunk, but my sober rhymes aren’t any better. I’m no poet and I know it. Though I’m looking forward to the body shots! 

I’m skipping the knitting paragraph, I don’t really fully understand it. Are you saying you have a knot? Are you alluding to a knot? Are you using knitting as a very bad metaphor for knotting? Are you really just asking me to make you a sweater? Can I claim drunkenness again? So I don’t look quite so dumb… 

OH MY GOD YOU ARE INTO D&D! YOU ARE A NERD LIKE ME!!! I so need to play with you now… well, obviously. But I really want you to set up a werewolf related campaign through which you spill the actual werewolf tea. Not just the internet bullshit lore I’ve had to deal with. And I’m not saying we’re at the point where you should introduce me to your family or your pack, but I’m saying they’re three more potential players who could be werewolves and I could be the funny likable quirky human bard. It could be great! I bet Derek is that typical brooding guy who only grunts and is all buff and manly and tough and I could be his Jaskier. It’d be hilarious! 

Just about as hilarious as drunk me! I’m so glad we agree! Scott can indeed fuck off. Hilarious, that’s me! 

How do these letters keep bringing forth heartfelt declarations of like? My chest makes a weird noise whenever I read that you like me. Let alone when I read that you like me a lot. I think the weird noise means I also like you. I mean, I suppose I like you. I guess I like you a lot. Also, because I know I would be that little shit, which means you would probably also be that little shit, before you ask about the weird noise let me just tell you already. The weird noise my chest makes is like what the fox says. Not one of the specific things the fox says, but all of the sounds combined together to create a new cacophony of noise, that’s the sound my chest makes when you say you like me.

So you need to stop saying it because it’s scaring Damon. 

No one likes the American version of Hogwarts. Just like no one likes The Cursed Child. Or The Epilogue. We’ve all collectively decided it doesn’t exist. Please get with the program before you trigger me. 

You can’t possibly have read all the books on that drive I gave you? Or seen all the movies and shows? There must be something left you could do. 

You could always buy a Switch and Animal Crossing. We could be friends in it. And you could come to my island. 

Shut up, that’s not a euphemism. 

Hiraeth.

Hiraeth. That’s beautiful. Is it weird to say I’m actually relieved there’s a word for it? Because that means it’s an actual thing and not just me going insane or being too attached or being… weird. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only one who feels this way you know? 

Love, 

Stiles

P.S. You didn’t let the letter turn into a bad porn script at all… not even a little bit… more’s the pitty. 

P.P.S. I’m never talking to my dad again, and he can’t look me in the eyes anymore. Apparently I waxed poetic about a certain pair of blue eyes and a thick neck and then at one point I READ THE DRUNK LETTER OUT LOUD TO MY FATHER. YES THE DRUNK LETTER IN WHICH I THIRSTED AFTER YOU LIKE NO ONE HAS EVER THIRSTED BEFORE IN THE HISTORY OF THIRST. 

And because of the quarantine, I’m not even allowed to flee the house or his judging… aura. 

P.P.P.S. What do you mean what do you get in return for massaging me? You get to touch my butt and my titties and my whole glorious body. It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little bit more appreciative, you ungrateful walnut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand another one up! Look, feelings.  
> Thanks for reading, let us know what you think! <3


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two can play the drunken game, my dearest Stiles. Things are heating up! 
> 
> Let us know what you think! Shoot us a message if you'd like us to know what you'd love to see in the future or if you just like to chat.
> 
> Stay safe!

My dearest, Stiles,

I’ve decided to take a page from your book (not your literal book because I still haven’t figured out what your pen name is) and indulged in some exquisite Belgian beers tonight. I don’t usually drink alcohol when I’m alone, it tends to enhance the loneliness. But the world is still absolutely insane and the only way to get it to make just a little bit sense again is to get absolutely smashed. I started early today, so I have a bit of a head start and am properly tipsy by now. The kids (yes, shut up. I am allowed to call them kids) aren’t back home until late because they actually found a way to make themselves useful. They’re off doing good. They’re good kids. I may love them. Don’t ever let them know I said that, I’ll never hear the end of it.

What am I saying, just telling YOU already guarantees that I’ll never hear the end of it. ‘Haha, Peter, you old softie,’ you’ll say. Only somehow you’ll be funny about it. I can’t do funny. I can do wise, and insightful. Possibly also sarcastic and snarky. But funny? I don’t think I have a funny bone in my body. It’s sad that you don’t have a medical degree, I’d let you examine my body to verify if I really don’t have a funny bone. 

That’d be a great first meeting, don’t you think? Doctor Stiles. Though that means I’d have to let you touch me without touching you back. I don’t think that will do. No, that won’t do at all.  
And anyway, I’ve already thought about how I expect our first ever meeting to go. And also about how I’d hate to see our first ever meeting to go. And also about how I’d wish it would go. I have a lot of time to think these days. In some ways this is worse than the coma because at least I wasn’t awake during that time. No time to think, no time to be bored, no time to read the headlines in the papers about thousands of people dying. But now I’m awake and I’ve been sleeping so much that I can’t sleep at night. So I lay there. And I think. And I think of our letters. I think of you and your jokes. I think of you and what you’re doing. I think of you.

I think of you and what I would like to say to you when we meet. I imagine us meeting in a coffee shop somewhere, because I’m nothing if not a walking cliché. And you’d already be sitting there, waiting for me. Probably already waiting for me for over fifteen minutes already because you’ve been a nervous wreck in the days leading up to this date and you’d rather have died than be late. So there you are, a nervous wreck but _on time, damnit_. You’ll be nursing a disgusting cup of tea with milk, eyes constantly darting towards the door. It’s probably macha or something equally revolting. The tea. Not the door. 

And then I’ll walk in. And I’ll pretend to not be nervous at all, which is of course a goddamn lie. Because unbeknownst to you, I’ll have spent the entire morning in front of my closet, trying to figure out what to wear. Numerous outfits have been tried and all discarded. Multiple times. Only to finally pick the outfit I tried on the very first time anyway. It’s probably something that fits snugly and shows off my ass...ets. Assets. I’ll have taken three showers. The first two to wash off the cologne I’ll have chosen. The third one because warm water calms me down. And then it’ll be time to go meet you and I’ll have jumped in my car, my hands wet on the wheel. Getting out of the car and opening the coffeeshop door will seem insanely surreal and too real at the same time. And my heart will go a thousand miles a minute and I’ll be sweating and have a dry mouth and I’ll feel like puking, because oh my God, but then I’ll see you sitting there and everything just… calms down. It’ll feel right. And you’ll smile at me and I’ll smile back and I’ll fall even more in love with you right there and then. As if that’s even possible at that point. 

I’ll walk over to you, aware of you taking in every move I make and I’ll drink in everything about you. The way your fragile smile just turned into a huge grin, the way I can see the nerves melt away, the mischief shining in your eyes (you STILL haven’t sent me a picture by the way, so I can’t even wax poetically about the colour of your eyes. You dick.) And then I’ll move to shake your hand like a civilized person, but you’re up on your feet already, giving me the warmest and best hug I’ve ever had and saying something ridiculous like ‘I’ve seen your dick and discussed your toe beans, don’t you dare try shaking my hand. Besides, who knows what you’ve been doing with that hand up until ten minutes ago?” or something equally suggestive. And I’ll scoff, because that’s what I do. 

We’ll talk and I’ll laugh at your stupid jokes because they’re secretly not stupid at all. And who knows, I might say something snarky that’s actually funny too and I’ll make you laugh as well, and I’ll become addicted to that stupid laugh of yours. And as we’re talking time will fly so fast, too fast and suddenly we’ve been there for two hours already. So I suggest that we pay the nice waitress who’s been smiling at me knowingly, which has been getting on my nerves, and go somewhere else. Maybe a movie, or a bowling alley somewhere. But then you surprise me (again, you always manage to surprise me) and say there’s an expo somewhere in town and afterwards we can go play pool. 

The expo is about portraits in black and white and it’s absolutely amazing. Not the pictures. The pictures bore me, they’re pictures of people I don’t know and they’re all close ups and weird. No, what’s amazing is the way you are so passionate about everything. You tell me about what camera has been used and how the light plays a huge part in these portraits and how there’s a story behind every picture. And while I honestly couldn’t care less, I find myself hanging on every word you say. By the time we’re finished at the expo I’m considering buying both of us a decent camera and a few classes just so I can hear you talk about this more. 

We’ll grab something to eat. Nothing fancy, though I promised myself I’d treat you to whatever you’d want. But you opt for the biggest, greasiest burger I’ve ever seen in my life and I swear it’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I was about to say ‘the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,’ but, well… And you order a milkshake and drive me out of my goddamn mind because you simply WON’T. STOP. PLAYING. WITH. THE STRAW. Licking it, sucking it back in your mouth, nibbling on it. It’s driving me nuts and I constantly lose the thread of our conversation and you have no clue and just laugh at me. Which tells me that you damn well know what you’re doing. You dick. 

After dinner we go to the cafe to play pool. We order a couple of beers and have a great evening. You absolutely suck at it though. So I take it upon myself to guide you. I’ll stand behind you, gently showing you how to move the cue, guiding your wrists. I’ll put my hands on your hips, nudging you in a better position. I’ll whisper some nonsense instructions in your ear, though I swear I didn’t mean it to be nonsense, but the scent of your hair, your skin erases every logical thought in my mind. You just laugh and nod. Push your hips further back, against me. Now I know you’re doing it on purpose. And I won’t mind. 

Two hours later you’ve beaten me (I’ll have let you win) and you’re gleefully rubbing it in as we leave the cafe. We reach your car and you’re hesitant to leave, playing with your keys and obviously trying to reach a decision. You’ll look up at me (shut up, I’m definitely taller than you) and bite your lip while thinking and that’s when I lose it. I’ll push you back up against your car, probably setting off some fucking alarm, and I’ll finally claim the kiss that I’ve been longing for so long. And you’ll taste so good and still smell so good, so you and you’ll be so warm and you (oh god, please, I hope, I BEG you to) don’t even hesitate to kiss me back and you’ll TASTE SO GOOD.

So. Anyway. That’s how I hope our first meeting ever will go. 

Love, your ungrateful walnut

P.S. I don’t knit. I may have a knot. You didn’t hear this from me.

P.S.S. I can’t read your letter, it seems to have multiplied while I wasn’t looking and now there’s four letters trying to occupy the same space. It’s annoying. I’ll answer your questions later. 

PSPSP Is it possible to have fallen in love without ever having met someone? I’m not saying that I have. I’m just asking for a friend.

PSSSSSSSS Heh. WalNUT


	30. Chapter 30

My rudest, Peter,

I cannot believe.

After the humiliation I went through, you also decide to write a drunk letter, and honestly I thought you were doing it to make me feel better. But I see now that that was foolish of me. You only did it to rub it in my face that you’re such a better drunk than me. How dare you? Writing the most adorable, most beautiful, most well-written letter while drunk. I am so offended right now. And you can thank your lucky toe beans that your hot and cute. Because if you weren’t so adorable with your stupid face and your walnut toe beans and your idiot imagines - yes, don’t front with me, you just wrote a goddamn imagine about our first date and it’s so fucking ridiculous, Peter - and if you weren’t so sexy with your stupid thick neck and your walnut sugar daddy vibe and your idiot muscles…. 

I’m not entirely sure anymore what I was going to say, but I will reread this sentence and find out. Because I was lowkey mad and now I’m highkey aroused - which happens more often than you might think - but just cause I got distracted because I was thinking of your hot bod, doesn’t mean I’m not still lowkey mad.

Right. If you weren’t so adorable and sexy (examples listed above) you wouldn’t get away with being a better drunk than me, buddy. You can’ just one up me in a drinking game, that I didn’t even know was happening which is unfair, over a letter exchange! Do you know how pathetic that is? It’s one thing to meet someone in a bar who drinks me under the table and then makes a… surprisingly profound declaration of… whatever the fuck that was, it’s another to have that happen with a penpal! We’re miles apart and already you have more dirt on me than I have on you, AND YOU’RE A WEREWOLF, so what the fuck gives? 

Okay fine. Fine. 

I might be slightly aware of the fact that this whole rambling thing is something I did to distract myself from all that… word stuff you wrote me. Because honestly, sounds escaped me that I’m sure brought all the dogs to my yard. My dad was questioning if my balls had ever dropped at all that’s how high I was squealing in fucking delight. Ugh.

You can’t just…. be adorable. 

Who gave you the right? 

But fine. Like I said, you’re lucky you’re sexy and adorable. So I guess I’ll play along or whatever. 

So let me just recap the scene, see if I got it all right. Werewolf coffee shop AU meet cute, but not really meet cute, just we’ve-had-this-weird-penpal-long-distance-thing-going-but-we’ve-never-spoken-in-person first ever in real life meeting. Cute. 

Not confusing at all when I put it like that. 

God, Peter, you can’t just do this to me. I’m supposed to write a reply to this. And you just… write something that I can’t stop rereading over and over. Because I want it. So bad. I want this so much more than I want a pic of your mythical dick. And I kind of hate myself for not being able to be more serious about this. 

Ugh, I’ll try.

No, I can’t.

I can’t be serious about this, because a) it makes me want too much and b) I just… have nothing to add, you adorable romantic walnut. 

That, all of that, it’s perfect. 

Let’s meet like that. It can be our very own self fulfilling prophecy. 

I’ll make sure I know there’s an art exhibition somewhere and I’ll study up on the artist and the technique and about all the art in the whole gallery. I don’t care about photography either. But I care about you. I care about wanting to impress you. Because I’ll never know how I got so lucky to get your letter by mistake, and one day you’re bound to realize that all of this - whatever this is at that point - was just based on a wrong address, on a mistake. 

(Which is why I’m telling you now. Peter, this is all based on a mistake you made when you were in a very vulnerable place. Don’t come at me in 50 years and blame our marriage on me never telling you. I just told you. You’ve been warned. This is all based on the luckiest mistake of my life and you’re aiming way below your league. That’s all I’m ever going to say on that subject cause I’m not a complete idiot.) 

I want all of that, Peter. I want a nervous meeting in a coffee shop, I want to laugh with you and then pretend to know stuff about photography with you. I want to tease you in a greasy diner with a dumb straw (not a plastic one though, think of the turtles!) and then I want to tease you bending over the pool table. (My booty will be enough of a distraction for you that you won’t have to “let” me win, by the way, don’t you ever dare let me win shit. I win my own shit. Oh wait. No. Werewolf powers. You better fucking let me win, mister, my father raised me better than to just let the furries walk all over me with their special powers.)

And then that kiss. Yes. 

Yes. 

Please, Peter.

Do you ever just think about what would have happened to us if I hadn’t received that letter? Do you think we would have still met? Do you think we would have liked each other? 

Because I think we would have met anyway, but for some reason I can’t help but picture our meet-cute being a meet-disaster. 

We would have run into each other sooner or later. You were always going to come back to Beacon Hills at some point and I’m never leaving since I’m emotionally stunted and too codependent on my father, and Beacon Hills is not that big. 

We could have met at the bookshop where you’d scoff at my “abysmal” taste in books and I’d flip you off for being a condescending jackass. 

We could have met at the sheriff’s station where I probably would have assumed you were a) a criminal,   
b) a defence lawyer (and I can’t just get all cozied up with my dad’s natural enemy)   
c) Laura’s hot older boyfriend (for peak cringe).   
Or rogue option d could have also happened. My dad knew you, I made zero assumptions about you apart from the fact that you’re unfairly hot, and while I’m still ogling your ass while you exit, my dad just tells me no and starts listing all your little misdemeanors. I bet you were caught for public indecency at least 15 times. 

I don’t think we would have liked each other. Although I bet that if we’d met like one of the above, and kept meeting, we’d eventually crack and give in and bang it out. Bang it out so long and hard until we develop pesky little big feelings for each other. 

….

Oh god no. 

I see what has happened. 

I have become a person who believes in soulmates. 

People destined to be together in every fucking alternate universe. 

How utterly basic of me.

This is your fault. Take this coffee shop meet-cute imagine away from me and keep it safe so we can make it real soon. 

Love, your dearest

P.S. I doubt you’ve listened to Hamilton at this point, but like, A+ punctuation at the start of your letter, it was much appreciated. 

P.P.S. You’re insanely, unfairly adorable. 

P.P.P.S. I can with 100% certainty that it is definitely possible to fall in love without ever having met the other person. And it’s the best and warmest feeling, though I haven’t figured out how to explain it to my dad just yet. 

P.P.P.P.S. I love you, doofus. And I’m a little jealous of all the other me’s in all the other universes that they all get to fall in love with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's... pretend I posted this on time.   
> But hey! Not as long a wait for Peter's reply now...   
> I love you guys, please stay safe in these still weird times and please ignore that it's already monday.   
> Let me know what you think!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this seems a bit bland after all the steamy confessions from the previous week, sorry about that!
> 
> (April 27th note: hey guys, due to personal circumstances we're taking a short break. We haven't disappeared and will be back as soon as possible)

Dear Stiles,

We have to have a serious talk about how often you’re angry with me. First you were angry with me with the way things were handled when I was out cold. Then you were (rightfully so) angry for the way I handled things with Kate. Then you were angry with me for not sending you a dickpic AND in the same letter you were angry and called me a walnut for asking something in return for an amazing massage. And now you call me rude for sending you a drunk letter. Not because it was a drunk letter. No, because apparently I’m better at drunk letters than you? We need to talk about this. Preferably over dinner. With candlelight. Or in a bedroom where nobody can hear you moan. 

So anyway, I apologize for being better at being drunk than you. In all fairness, I wasn’t supposed to send that letter to you. I have a letter lying next to me that I wrote while sober because I don’t usually lay my heart bare like that in a letter. It’s full of snark and comments about the weather and such. It has a page long rant about the word ‘Stan’ because it’s utterly ridiculous and unnecessary when we already have ‘fan’. And it’s very much devoid of heartfelt confessions and first-date expectations. Right next to that letter I have ANOTHER letter. It’s very short. It just says ‘STILES, DO NOT READ THE LETTER YOU JUST RECEIVED’. I also haven’t sent that one. I was going to. It has a stamp and everything. But then I thought, No. And then I sat in terrifying anticipation for your reply. And I waited. And I waited. I was afraid I’d scared you off and cursed myself for not sending the intervention-letter.

But then I got your letter in the mail and I have never been more relieved to get yelled at. I didn’t even mind getting called a walnut again. And now I have half a mind to go out and hunt down Kate despite this virus just so we don’t have to worry about that and can immediately have that first date when this is all over and done with. I won’t because I’m a responsible adult. But I really really wish I could. 

And I mean, I have a few other scenarios that would be great as well. If you don’t like photography, we can also sit in the park or go to a movies or whatever. As long as it’s something that you’re just as passionate about as you are when you write your letters to me. I’ll also have you know that this isn’t all based on a wrong address. The address was correct. The inhabitant of the address just wasn’t. It wasn’t a mistake. This isn’t a mistake. I will obviously still blame everything on you. That’s just how things work. And I swear to whatever deity you put your faith in, if you ever dare to tell me that I’m aiming ‘way below my league’ ever again, I’ll whoop your ass so hard you won’t be able to walk or sit down for at least a week. How dare you. I’m offended on behalf of you. You’re a delight. You’re intelligent, funny, compassionate and disgustingly nice. I’ve had my fair share of partners that were supposedly ‘in my league’ and none of them can measure up to you. If anything, I’d say that I’m shooting for someone way beyond my league right now. So you just shut up.

I don’t think we would have liked each other if we hadn’t met through letters. Maybe if there was a chance for us to interact more often, but I’m an asshole and you would’ve hated my guts the moment we met. Unless you’re extremely attractive. In which case I would still have been an asshole, but I’d also have made it my mission to conquer you. I’d accidentally bump into you a lot, just to taunt you. I’m a firm believer in ‘annoy them so much they start to like you’. I don’t go for public indecency though. That’s just too crass. Unless we’re talking having sex outside, in which case it’s just a matter of making sure you don’t get caught. It’s a fun game. 

So anyway, how are you? I was too drunk, in love and horny in my last letter to ask you, but I actually do want to know. Still healthy? How about your dad? Your friends?  
What are you doing? How’s Damon? I just finished the first Murderbot book, have you read it? What are your thoughts? Are you eating healthy?

I have to go now to hide in residual shame over my previous lovey dovey letter, but I promise I’ll write you more next time.

Love, Peter

P.S. I did watch Hamilton and it definitely wasn’t a drunken mistake. It’s one of the best musicals I’ve ever seen. 

P.P.S. I am NOT adorable, I’m just romantic. 

P.P.P.S. I love you too.

P.P.P.P.S. Wait, are you telling your dad about us?


End file.
